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DEH-HE-W A-MIS : 

OR 

A NARRATIVE OF THE LIFE OF 

MARY JEMISON: 

OTHERWISE CALLED 

THE WHITE WOMAN, 

WHO WAS TAKEN CAPTIVE BY THE INDIANS IN MDCCLVJ AND 
WHO CONTINUED WITH THEM SEVENTY EIGHT YEARS. 
CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF THE MURDER OF 
HER FATHER AND HIS FAMILY; HER 
MARRIAGES AND SUFFERINGS; 

INDIAN BARBARITIES, CUSTOMS AND TRADITIONS. 

CAREFULLY TAKEN FROM HER OWN WORDS 

BY JAMES E. SEAVER. 



ALSO 

the life of hiokatoo, and ebenezer allen; a sketch 
of general sulllvan's campaign,* tragedy of the 

44 devils hole," etc. 
the whole revised, corrected and enlarged: with 
descriptive and historical sketches of the six 
nations, the genesee country, and other 
interesting facts connected with 
the narrative: 

BY EBENEZER MIX. 



BATAVIA, N. Y. 

PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM SEAVER AND 

1842. 



SON, 



Entered, according to act of Congress, on the 7th day 
of February, in the year 1842, by 

WILLIAM SEAVER & SON, 

in the Clerks Office of the District Court of the United States 
for the Northern District of New- York. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Publisher's Notice 7 

Preface* 9 

Introduction. 13 

chapter r. 

Parentage and birth of Mary Jemison — Parents 
settle in Pennsylvania. Indian alarms. Her 
education. ...... 23 

CHAPTER II. 

Fancied omen. Captivity of herself and family. 
Start for Fort Du Quesne. Mother's farewell 
address. Murder of her Parents and family. 
Preparation of scalps. Indian Caution. Ar- 
rival at Fort Du Quesne. ... 29 



CHAPTER III. 

Mary is given to two Seneca squaws — is taken 
down the Ohio river. She is adopted their 
sister — receives the name of Deh-he-wa-mis. 
Ceremony of adoption. White prisoners. Ma- 
ry marries She-nin-jee, a Delaware — Birth 
and death of a child — Her occupation — Birth 
of another child. ... .38 



CHAPTER IV. 

Mary, her husband 6s c, start for Fort Pitt — In- 
dian customs, 6sc. Shawnees murder three 
white men and torture another — Mary 6sc, 
change their course towards Lake Erie — She- 
ninjee returns. Mary 6sc. start for Genishau — 
Upper Sandusky — French Creek—Allegany 
River — Arrive at Genishau. . . .49 



iv 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER V. 

Geographical chapter — Indian names &c. Little 
Beard's Town and vicinity — Genesee river, 
its falls, flats, banks, and adjacent country, 
from Pennsylvania line to its mouth — Seneca 
Indian villages, &c. — Population. . . . 58 



CHAPTER VI. 

Indians march to fight the British. Return with 
cattle and prisoners. Sacrifice of prisoners. 
An Indian woman's eloquence. Tragedy of 
the Devil's Hole. Death of Mary's first hus- 
band. Attempt to take her to Niagara by 
force. She marries her second husband. Her 
children. Loss of a daughter. . . 70 



CHAPTER VII. 

Peace among the Indians. Their happy state. 
Celebrations. Religious worship. Exercises. 
Their primitive character, manners, customs, 
and morals. Join the British to fight the Ame- 
ricans. Bounty for scalps. Four female pri- 
soners. The wedding ring. Battle at Fort 
Stanwix. Indian loss. Butler and Brandt. 77 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Approach of Gen. Sullivan's army. A skirmish. 
Two Oneida Indians taken. One sacrificed. 
Lieut. Boyd and Parker captured. Boyd's 
barbarous execution, and Parker's death. In- 
dians retreat to the woods. Sullivan's army 
lay waste the country. Army returns. In- 
dians return but to disperse. Mrs. Jemison 
goes to Gardeau flats. Indian expedition to 
the Mohawk. John O'Bail and other prison- 
ers. Ebenezer Allen. ... 83 



CONTENTS. 



V 



CHAPTER IX. 

Mrs. Jemison is offered her freedom. She de- 
clines accepting. Her reasons. Her favor- 
ite brother dies. Great Council of 1797. A 
large tract of land given her by the Chiefs, 
Description of land. Indian traditions. . 92 



CHAPTER X. 

Little Beard^s death. Singular superstition. Fa- 
mily government. Her sons Thomas and John 
quarrel. John murders Thomas. John's trial 
by the chiefs, and acquittal. Thomas' age, 
character, wives and children. Riokatoo's 
death — Age and funeral — Traits of character. 99 

CHAPTER XI. 

Mrs. Jemison's troubles — John's enmity to his 
brother Jesse — John murders Jesse — Jesse's 
funeral, age, and character. * . . 108 



CHAPTER XII. 

Mrs. Jemison's cousin, George Jemison — His 
poverty — Her kindness and assistance — His 
ingratitude — He leaves her premises. . 112 



CHAPTER XIII. 

Her son John is murdered — His funeral — His 
life, disposition and character — His widows 
and children — age — His murderers flee — Tall 
Chief's speech — They return — Their fate. 116 



CHAPTER XIV. 

Mrs. Jemison sells part of her land — Reviews 
her past life — Indian frolicks — Use of ardent 
spirits- — Accusations against her — Executions 
for witchcraft — Her descendants — Remarks. 123 



ri 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER XV. 

Life of Hiokatoo — His birth and lineage — juve- 
nile practices — His cruelties and barbarities in 
several wars and many battles — Description 
of his person, strength, and activity. . 130 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Life of Ebenezer Allen — Crim. con. with a squaw 
— kills a man — marries a squaw and two white 
girls — kills a man to get his wife — keeps one 
wife's sister for a mistress- — moves to Canada 
and dies — his cruelties and barbarities. . 142 



CHAPTER XVII. 

Government of the Six Nations — Their feasts, 
dances, courtships &c. — Female security. 153 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

Life of Mrs. Jemison continued — moves to Buf- 
alo — converted to Christianity — Sickness and 
Death — Funeral — Death of surviving children 
— Jacob Jemison — His character and death. 165 



CHAPTER XIX. 

The present state of Western New-York, com- 
pared with the former — Religious edifices. 169 j 

CHAPTER XX. 

Sketch of the history of the Six Nations, or Min- 
goes — Emigration west of the Mississippi. 174 

APPENDIX. 

Tragedy of the Devil's Hole. . . .179 

Sketch of Gen. Sullivan's campaign. . 182 

Removal of the remains of Lieut Boyd. . 192 



PUBLISHERS' NOTICE. 



In presenting to the public this enlarged and re- 
vised edition of the life of Mary Jemison, the senior 
publisher considers it due to the memory of his de- 
ceased brother, the author, to state: that at the time 
the work was written, in 1824, he was laboring un- 
der a painful chronic disease, which tended greatly 
to disqualify him for mental or physical exertion, 
and which finally resulted in his death; and it is be- 
lieved, that the labor of preparing- the work for the 
press under such circumstances, contributed in no 
small degree, to hasten that event. 

To this cause, is to be mainly attributed the de- 
fects of the first edition, both in style and arrange- 
ment; and for this reason the publishers have felt 
at liberty, considering the relation in which they 
stand to the author, to make such corrections, revis- 
ions, and additions, as seemed necessary and proper, 
in order to render it what the author originally in- 
tended it should be; a faithful, interesting, and in- 
structive history, of the subject and events to which 
it relates. 

For the purpose of accomplishing this object, they 
have availed themselves of the services of Ebenezer 
Mix, Esq. who, aside from his other qualifications 
for such a task, possesses a knowledge of the geo- 
graphical localities of western New- York, from its 
earliest settlement to the present time, which is not 
surpassed, if equalled, by any person now living. 

It will be perceived by those who are familiar 
with the original work, that among other alterations 



viii 



publishers' notice. 



in the title, the word Deh-he-wa-mis, has been pre- 
fixed; it being the Indian name given to Mrs. Jemi- 
son at the time of her adoption. The reviser has 
also transposed, divided, consolidated, and re-arran- 
ged, various chapters and parts of chapters, in order 
to give a more clear and connected view of the sub- 
jects under consideration, and yet carefully preser- 
ving all the facts, as originally narrated by Mrs. Je- 
mison. The 5th, 18th and 19th chapters, being 
entirely original, are introduced for the purpose of 
continuing her history, from the time she gave her 
narrative to the author, down to the close of her 
eventful life; and for the purpose of exhibiting and 
contrasting, the past and present state of the country 
where most of the scenes transpired which are nar- 
rated in the work. An original sketch of the history 
of the Mingoes, or Six Nations, is also introduced as 
the 20th chapter, being intimately connected with, 
and calculated to illustrate the whole subject, and to 
increase its general interest. 

A portion of the narrative being connected with 
Sullivan's campaign, which was so disastrous to the 
Mingoes, and of which the author gave but an im- 
perfect sketch, the reviser has taken much pains to 
collect from various sources the facts in relation to 
it, which he has condensed into an article in the 
Appendix. 

In the various additions and amendments which 
have been made through the work, strict regard has 
been paid to facts; and no extraneous or equivocal 
matter has been introduced, for the purpose of ex- 
citing the wonder of a visionary imagination, or of 
ministering to the cravings of a morbid appetite; on 
the contrary, the object has been to make it interes- 
ting and instructive to old and young; a volume suit- 
able for the parlor as well as the school library. 



PREFACE. 



That to biographical writings we are indebted for 
the greatest and best field in which to study man- 
kind, or human nature, is a fact duly appreciated 
by a well-informed community. In them we can 
trace the effects of mental operations to their proper 
sources; and by comparing our own composition 
with that of those who have excelled in virtue, or 
with that of those who have been sunk in the lowest 
depths of folly and vice, we are enabled to select a 
plan of life that will at least afford self-satisfaction, 
and guide us through the world in paths of morality. 

Without a knowledge of the lives of the vile and 
abandoned, we should be wholly incompetent to set 
an appropriate value upon the charms, the excel- 
lence, and the worth of those principles which have 
produced the finest traits in the character of the 
most virtuous. 

Biography is a telescope of life, through which 
we can see the extremes and excesses of the varied 
properties of the human heart. Wisdom and folly, 
refinement and vulgarity, love and hatred, tender- 
ness and cruelty, happiness and misery, piety and 
infidelity, commingled with every other virtue or 
vice, are to be seen on the variegated pages of the 
history of human character and human events, and 
are eminently deserving the attention of those who 
would learn to walk in the "paths of peace." 

The brazen statue and the sculptured marble, can 
commemorate the greatness of heroes, statesmen, 
philosophers, and blood-stained conquerors, who 



X 



PREFACE. 



have risen to the zenith of human glory and popu- 
larity, under the influence of the mild sun of pros- 
perity: but it is the faithful page of biography that 
transmits to future generations the modest virtues, 
and social enjoyments, as well as the poverty, pain, 
hunger, wretchedness, and torment, and every 
nameless misery that has been endured by those who 
have lived in obscurity, and groped their lonely 
way through a long series of unpropitious events, 
with but little help besides the light of nature. While 
the gilded monument displays in brightest colors, 
the vanity of pomp, and the emptiness of nominal 
greatness, the biographical page, that lives in every 
line, is giving lessons of fortitude in time of danger, 
patience in suffering, hope in • distress, invention 
in necessity, and resignation to unavoidable evils. 
Here also may be learned, pity for the bereaved, 
benevolence for the destitute, and compassion for 
the helpless; and at the same time all the sympa- 1 
thies of the soul will be naturally excited to sigh at 
the unfavorable result, or to smile at the fortunate 
relief. 

Few great men have passed from the stage of ac- 
tion, who have not left in the history of their lives, . 
indelible marks of unhallowed ambition or manifest 
folly, which produced insurmountable obstacles, | 
causing unavoidable reverses, and rendering the 
whole a mere caricature, that can be examined only 
with disgust and regret. Such pictures, however, 
are profitable; for "by others' faults wise men cor- 
rect their own.'"' 

The following is a piece of biography, that shows 
what changes may be effected in the animal and 
mental constitution of man; what trials may be en- 
countered and withstood; what difficulties may be 
surmounted; what cruelties perpetrated, and what 



PREFACE. 



xi 



pain endured, when stern necessity holds the reins, 
and destiny drives the car of fate. 

As books of this kind are sought and read with 
avidity, especially by children, and are well calcu- 
lated to excite their attention, inform their under- 
standing, and improve them in the art of reading, 
the greatest care has been observed to render the 
style easy, the language comprehensive, and the 
description natural. Prolixity has been studiously 
avoided. The line of distinction between virtue and 
vice, has been rendered distinctly visible; and chas- 
tity of expression and sentiment have received due 
attention. Strict fidelity has been observed in the 
composition: consequently, no circumstance has 
been intentionally exaggerated by the paintings of 
fancy, nor by the fine flashes of rhetoric: neither 
has the picture been rendered more dull than the 
original. Without the aid of fiction, what was re- 
ceived as matter of fact, only has been recorded. 

It will be observed that the subject of this narra- 
tive has arrived at least to the advanced age of 
eighty years; that she is destitute of education; and 
that her journey of life, throughout its texture, has 
been interwoven with troubles, which ordinarily are 
calculated to impair the faculties of the mind; and 
it will be remembered, that there are but few old 
people who can recollect with precision, the cir- 
cumstances of their lives, particularly those circum- 
stances which transpired after middle age; yet she 
sustained herself, in relation to the incidents of her 
life, with a manifest accuracy and precision, sur- 
passing every expectation. 

In relation to the language used in this work, 
where incidents appear to be related, or speeches 
reported in Mrs. Jemison's own words, although 
she gave the narrative in the English language, it 



xii 



PREFACE. 



cannot be expected to be more than a translation of 
her strong, energetic, but somewhat broken lan- 
guage. It is however, believed to be a true, and al- 
most literal translation of her expressed communi- 
cations, not only as to words, but as to the original 
idiom. It would appear improbable that a narrative 
of such length, expressed in such words, and in an 
order so connected, could flow from the lips of an 
uneducated female, eighty years of age. Yet it will 
be observed, that having a strong mind and reten- 
tive memory — and having long been familiarly con- 
versant with the most celebrated Mingo chiefs and 
orators, she had almost intuitively imbibed their for- 
cible manner of expression, and impressive pecu- 
liarities of gesture. Her recitals of events and 
speeches therefore, were imbued with much of the 
figurative eloquence, so universally admitted to be- 
long peculiarly to these children of the forest. 

The introduction will facilitate the understanding 
of what follows; and as it contains matter that 
could not be inserted with propriety in any other 
place, will be read with interest and satisfaction. 

Having finished my undertaking, the subsequent 
pages are cheerfully submitted to the perusal and 
approbation or animadversion of a candid, generous, 
and indulgent public. At the same time it is fondly 
hoped, that the lessons of distress that are pour- 
trayed, may have a direct tendency to increase our 
love of liberty; to enlarge our views of the bles- 
sings that are derived from our liberal institutions; 
and to excite in our breasts sentiments of devotion 
and gratitude, to the great Author and sustainer of 
the sources of all our happiness. 

THE AUTHOR. t 

Pembroke, March 1, 1824. b 



INTRODUCTION. 



The peace which was concluded and ratified be- 
tween the United States and Great Britain, in 1783, 
led to a treaty of peace and amnesty between the 
United States, and the Indian confederacy called 
the Six Nations, which took place at Fort Stanwix, 
now Rome, Oneida county, N. Y.) in 1784, con- 
ucted by commissioners on the part of the * United 
States, and the chiefs, warriors, and headmen of the 
Six nations, on their part. 

By this treaty all the prisoners who had been ta- 
ken, and were at that time retained by the Indians, 
were to be set at liberty, On this joyful event, 
those prisoners who had escaped the tomahawk, the 
gantlet, and the sacrificial fire, were released from 
bondage, and restored to their friends, to society, and 
to the world. Although the number of prisoners 
thus released were few, in proportion to the great 
number who had been taken, they were so nume- 
rous that their return brought the legends of deeds 
of torture and death, to every section of the country. 
These horrid tales required not the aid of fiction, or 
the persuasive powers of rhetoric, to heighten their 
colorings, or gain credence to their shocking truths. 
In those days, Indian barbarities were the constant 
topic of the domestic fire-side, the parlor, the hall, 
and the forum. It is presumed that at this time, 
there are but few native citizens, that have passed 



14 



INTRODUCTION. 



the middle age, who do not distinctly recollect, of 
hearing such frightful accounts of Indian barbarities, 
oft repeated, in the nursery and in the family circle, 
until it almost caused their hair to stand erect, and 
deprived them of the power of motion. 

Time however, has produced a confusion of inci- 
dents in those tales, and enveloped the fidelity of 
their transmission to us, in clouds of doubt: to res- 
cue from oblivion, and preserve in their primitive 
purity, some of those legends, and to exemplify and 
record, for the use of posterity, as well as for the 
present generation, a faithful delineation of the cha- : 
racteristic traits of the Mingoes, is the object of these f 
memoirs. 

At the same treaty, the Six Nations or Mingoes, | 
were left in undisturbed possession of the greater 
portion of the state of New-York, and had the right of 
possession guarantied to them by the United States, 
of all the territory west of a line called the property 
line, running nearly parallel with, and less than 
eighty miles west of the Hudson river, two small 
tracts excepted. At this time Mary Jemison had ! 
been with the Indians twenty-nine years; seven had ] 
transpired during the French war with the British, 
in which the Six Nations raised the tomahawk 
against the British and Americans; and seven during j 
the revolutionary war, in which the Indians arrayed 
themselves on the side of the British against the ' 
Americans; there being an interval of peace of fif- 
teen years between, if peace it could be called, when 
they were constantly sending war parties against 
other Indian tribes, south and north from the torrid 1 
to the frigid zone, and west to the Rocky Mountains. 

During this time Mrs. Jemison had been twice 
married to Indian chiefs, and had a husband and 
seven children then living. She too, was nearly 1 



INTRODUCTION. 



15 



two hundred miles from any white settlement, and 
knew not that she had a white relative or friend on 
earth: she therefore resolved not to accept of her 
freedom, but to spend the remainder of her days 
with the Indians, where she knew she had affection- 
ate relatives, and many kind friends; this resolution 
she carried fully into effect, and became their faith- 
ful and correct chronicler for more than three- 
fourths of a century. 

At this time, 1784, and for several years after- 
wards, no settlements of white people were made in 
the'state, west of Cherry Valley, on the head waters 
of the Susquehannah; and the German Flats, on the 
Mohawk; as those places v/ere situated nearly as 
far west as the property line, the boundary of the 
Indian lands. So fresh were the wounds which the 
whites had received from their savage neighbors, 
that the Indians w r ere viewed with a jealous eye, even 
when unmolested and unprovoked; under these cir- 
cumstances, peaceable citizens were little inclined 
to trespass on their lands, or give them the least 
pretext for a quarrel, by even travelling into their 
country. No white people therefore, visited their 
villages, except some half-savage traders, and a few 
of the refuse of society, who, to escape the meshes 
of civil or criminal law, bade adieu to civilized life, 
and took shelter in the recesses of the forest, under 
the protection of its lords. 

The Indian title to the lands surrounding Mrs. 
Jemison's residence, was not sold to the whites un- 
til the great council in 1797, when may be dated 
the first time of her associating with moral, social, 
civilized man, from the time of her childhood; after 
a lapse of forty-two years. Still she had retained 
her native language with great purity; and had 
treasured up, and constantly kept in her ow r n breast, 



16 



INTRODUCTION. 



all those moral and social virtues, by the precepts 
of which civilized society profess to be guided, and 
by their directions always to be governed. 

At length, the richness and fertility of the soil 
excited emigration, and here and there a family set- 
tled down and commenced improvements in the 
country which had recently been the property of the 
aborigines. Those who settled near the Genesee 
river, soon became acquainted with "The White 
Woman," as Mrs. Jemison was called, whose history 
they anxiously sought, both as a matter of interest 
and curiosity. Frankness characterized her conduct, 
and without reserve she would readily gratify them 
by relating some of the most important periods of 
her life. 

Although her bosom companion was an ancient 
warrior, and notwithstanding her children and asso- 
ciates were all Indians, yet it was found that she 
possessed an uncommon share of hospitality, and 
that her friendship was well worth courting and 
preserving. Her house was the stranger's home; 
from her table the hungry were refreshed; — she 
made the naked as comfortble as her means would 
admit; and in all her actions, discovered so much 
natural goodness of heart, that her admirers increa- 
sed in proportion to the extension of her acquaint- 
ance, and she became celebrated as the friend of 
the distressed. She was the protectress of the home- 
less fugitive, and made welcome the weary wande- 
rer. Many still live to commemorate her benevo- 
lence towards them, when prisoners during the war, 
and to ascribe their deliverance to the mediation of 
"The White Woman." 

The settlements of civilized society increased 
around her,'and the whole country was inhabited by 
a rich and respectable people, principally from i 



INTRODUCTION. 



17 



New-England, as much distinguished for their spi- 
rit of inquisitiveness as for their habits of industry 
and honesty, who had all heard from one source 
and another a part of her life in detached pieces, 
and had obtained an idea that the whole taken in 
connexion would afford instruction and amusement. 

Many gentlemen of respectability, felt anxious 
that her narrative might be laid before the public, 
with a view not only to perpetuate the remembrance 
of the atrocities of the savages in former times, but 
to preserve some historical facts which they suppo- 
sed to be intimately connected with her life, and 
which otherwise must be lost. 

Forty years had passed since the close of the Re- 
volutionary war, and almost seventy years had seen 
Mrs. Jemison with the Indians, when Daniel W. 
Banister, Esq. at the instance of several gentlemen, 
and prompted by his own ambition to add something 
to the accumulating fund of useful knowledge, re- 
solved, in the autumn of 1823, to embrace that time, 
while she was capable of recollecting and reciting 
the scenes through which she had passed, to collect 
from herself, and to publish to the world, an accu- 
rate account of her life. 

I was employed to collect the materials, and pre- 
pare the work for the press; and accordingly went 
to the house of Mrs. Jennet Whaley, in the town of 
Castile, Genesee county, N. Y., in company with 
the publisher, who procured the interesting subject 
of the following narrative, to come to that place (a 
distance of four miles) and there repeat the story of 
her eventful life. She came on foot in company 
with Mr. Thomas Clute, whom she considers her 
protector, and tarried several days, which time was 
busily occupied in taking a sketch of her narrative 
as she recited it. 

B 



IS 



INTRODUCTION. 



In stature she is very short, considerably under 
the middle size, but stands tolerably erect, with her 
head bent forward, apparently from her having for 
a long time been accustomed to carrying heavy bur- | 
dens supported by a strap placed across her fore- 
head. Her complexion is very white for a woman ! 
of her age, and although the wrinkles of fourscore 
years are deeply indented in her cheeks, yet the 
crimson of youth is distinctly visible. Her eyes are 
light blue, a little faded by age, but naturally bril- 
liant and sparkling. Her sight is quite dim, though 
she is able to perform her necessary labor without 
the assistance of glasses. Her cheek bones are high, 
and rather prominent, and her front teeth, in the 
lower jaw, are sound and good. When she looks | 
up and is engaged in conversation her countenance 
is very expressive; but from her long residence 
with the Indians, she has acquired the habit of pee- ; 
ping from under the eye-brows as they do with the- 
head inclined downwards. Formerly her hair was 
of a light chesnut brown — it As now quite grey, a 
little curled, of midling length and tied in a bunch 
behind. She informed me that she had never worn 
a cap or a comb. 

She speaks English plainly and distinctly, slightly 
tinged with the Irish idiom, and has the use of words j 
so well as to render herself intelligible on any sub- 
ject with which she is acquainted. Her recollection 
and memory exceeded my expectation. It cannot 
be reasonably supposed, that a person of her age 
has kept the events of seventy years in so complete | 
a chain as to be able to assign to each its proper 
time and place; she, however, made her recital 
with as few obvious mistakes as might be expected 
from a person of fifty. Indeed in every case, where 
she attempted to give dates, she was remarkably cor- 



INTRODUCTION* 



19 



rect, so uniformly so, that she coincided exactly with 
history, except in one instance, which was the sur- 
render of Fort Bu Quesne by the French to the 
English, and this is more to be attributed to her igno- 
rance at the time, than to the treachery of her me- 
mory, for the fort was always filled with English 
or Yankee traders, trappers, hunters and outlaws as 
well as Frenchmen; and the Ohio Indians knew lit- 
tle and cared less, who commanded the fort, so long 
as they could trade there to suit themselves. Under 
such circumstances, it is not remarkable that a 
young woman, fifteen or sixteen years old, domesti- 
cated among the Indians, and residing three or four 
hundred miles from the fort, should not know the 
precise timethat the French flag was struck and 
the English hoisted in its stead, which absolutely took 
place in 1758, while she resided in that country. 

She walks with a quick step without a staff, and 
can yet cross a stream on a log or pole as steadily 
as any other person. Her passions are easily exci- 
ted. At a number of periods in her narration, tears 
trickled down her grief worn cheek, and at the same 
time a rising sigh would stop her utterance. 

Industry is a virtue which she has uniformly 
practiced, from the day of her adoption to the pre- 
sent. She pounds her samp, cooks for herself, 
gathers and chops her wood, feeds her cattle and 
poultry, and performs other laborious services. — 
Last season she planted, tended and gathered her 
corn — in short, she is always busy. 

Her dress at the time I saw her, was made and 
worn after the usual Indian fashion. She had on a 
brown, undressed flannel short-gown, with long 
sleeves, the skirt reaching to the hips, being tied 
before in two places with deerskin strings; below 
the skirt of the gown, was to be seen three or four 



20 



INTRODUCTION. 



inches of the lower extremity of a cotton shirt, 
which was without collar or sleeves, and open be- 
fore. Her petticoat, or the Indian substitute for 
that garment, was composed of about a yard and a | 
quarter of blue broadcloth, w T ith the lists on, and 
sewed together at the ends. This was tied around 
her waist, or rather above her hips, under her shirt, 
with a string, in such a manner as to leave one 
fourth of a yard or more of the top of the cloth to 
be turned over the string, and display the top list 
and four or five inches of the cloth below the bot- 
tom of the shirt — the main body of the garment and 
the other list, reaching down to the calves of her 
legs; below which was to be seen her leggins, con- 
sisting of pieces of blue broadcloth, wrapped around 
her legs, and tied or pinned on, reaching from her 
knees to just within the tops of her buckskin mocca- 
sins. She wore no footings or socks on her feet at 
any season, unless some rags wrapped around her 
toes could be considered such. Over her shoulders 
was wrapped a common Indian or Dutch blanket, 
and on her head she wore an old brown woollen 
cloth, somewhat in the shape of a sun bonnet. 

Thus attired, and it will be recollected that she 
was not caught in her dishabille, as she had come | 
from home, the distance of four miles, for the ex- 
press purpose of meeting us, thus attired, I say, we 
met the owner of two square miles of very fertile 
and productive land, lying in the midst of a dense 
population, and near an excellent market — with an 
annuity of three hundred dollars a year, secured to 
her, her heirs and assigns forever. Yet such was 
the dress this woman was not only contented to wear, 
but delighted in wearing. Habit having rendered it 
convenient and comfortable, she wore it as a matter 
of choice. 



INTRODUCTION. 



21 



Her house, in which she lives, is 20 by 28 feet; 
built of square timber, with a shingled roof, and a 
framed stoop. In the centre of the house is a chim- 
ney of stones and sticks, in which there are two 
fire places. She has a good framed barn, 26 by 36, 
well filled, and owns a fine stock of cattle and hor- 
ses. Besides the buildings above mentioned, she 
owns a number of buildings occupied by tenants, 
who work her flats upon shares. 

Her dwelling is on the west side of Genesee river, 
about one hundred rods north of the Great Slide, a 
curiosity which will hereafter be described. 

Mrs. Jemison appeared sensible of her ignorance 
of the manners of the white people, and for that 
reason, was not familiar, except with those with 
whom she was intimately acquainted. In fact she 
was, to appearance, so jealous of her rights, or 
afraid that she should say something that would be 
injurious to herself or family, that if Mr. Clute had 
not been present, we should have been unable to 
have obtained her history. She, however, soon be- 
came free and unembarrassed in her conversation, 
and spoke with a degree of mildness, candor and 
simplicity, that is calculated to remove all doubts as 
to the veracity of the speaker. The vices of the 
Indians she appeared to palliate, or at least not to 
aggravate, and seemed to take pride in extoling 
their virtues. A kind of family pride inclined her 
to withhold whatever would blot the character of 
her descendants, and perhaps induced her to keep 
back many things that would have been interesting. 

For the life of her last husband, we are indebted 
to her cousin, Mr. George Jemison, to whom she re- 
ferred us for information on that subject generally. 
The thoughts of his deeds, probably chilled her old 
heart, and made her dread to rehearse them, and at 



$2 



INTRODUCTION. 



the same time she well knew they were no secret, 
for she had frequently heard him relate the whole* 
not only to her cousin, but to others. 

Before she left us she was very sociable, and she 
resumed her naturally pleasant countenance, enli- 
vened with a smile. 

Her neighbors speak of her as possessing one of. 
the happiest tempers and dispositions, and give her 
the name of never having done a censurable act to 
their knowledge. 

Her habits are those of the Indians — she sleeps on 
skins without a bedstead, sits upon the floor or on a 
bench, and when she eats, holds her victuals on her 
lap, or in her hands. 

Her ideas of religion, correspond in every respect 
with those of the great mass of the Senecas. She 
applauds virtue, and condemns vice. She believes 
in a future state, in which the good will be happy, 
and the bad miserable; and that the acquisition of | 
that happiness, depends primarily upon human voli- 
tion, and the consequent good deeds of the happy 
recipient of blessedness. But she is a stranger to 
the doctrines of the Christian religion. 

Her daughters are said to be active and enterpri- 
sing women, and her grandsons, who have arrived 
to manhood, are considered able, decent and respec- 
table men in their tribe, and many of them ars 
greeted with respect in civilized society. 

Having in this cursory manner, introduced the 
principal subject of the following pages, I proceed 
to the narration of a life that has been viewed with 
attention, for a great number of years by a few, 
and which will be read by the public with mixed 
sensations of pleasure and pain, joy and sorrow, 
and with interest, anxiety and satisfaction. 



DE.H-HE-WA-MIS; 

<0B A NARRATIVE OP THE LIFE Off 

MRS. MARY JEMISONL 



CHAPTER I. 



Although I may have frequently heard the history 
of my ancestry, my recollection is too imperfect to 
enable me to trace it further back than to my father 
and mother, whom I have often heard mention the 
families from whence they originated, as having 
possessed wealth and honorable stations under th@ 
government of the country in which they resided. 

On account of the great length of time that has 
elapsed since I was separated from my parents and 
friends, and having heard the story of their nativity 
only in the days of my childhood, I am unable to 
state positively, which of the two countries, Ireland 
or Scotland, was the land of my parents' birth and 
education. It however, is my impression, that they 
were born and brought up in Ireland 



24 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



My Father's name was Thomas Jemison, and my 
Mother's, before her marriage, was Jane Erwin. — 
Their affection for each other was mutual, and of 
that happy kind which tends directly to sweeten the 
cup of life; to render connubial sorrows lighter; to | 
assuage every discontentment; and to promote not j 
only their own comfort, but that of all who come 
within the circle of their acquaintance. Of their 
happiness I recollect to have heard them often speak; 
and the remembrance I yet retain of their mildness 
and perfect agreement in the government of their 
children, together with their mutual attention to our 
common education, manners, religious instruction 
and wants, renders it certain in my mind, that they 
were ornaments to the married state, and examples 
of connubial love, worthy of imitation. After my I 
remembrance, they were strict observers of religious 
duties; for it was the daily practice of my father, | 
morning and evening, to attend, in his family, to I 
the worship of God. 

Resolved to leave the land of their nativity, they 
removed from their residence to a port in Ireland, 
where they lived but a short time before they set 
sail for this country, in the year 1742 or 3, on board 
the ship William and Mary, bound to Philadelphia. 

The intestine divisions, civil wars, and ecclesias- 
tical rigidity and domination that prevailed in those 
days, were the causes of their leaving their mother 
country to find a home in the American wilderness, 
under the mild and temperate government of the 
descendants of William Penn; where, they might 
worship God, according to the dictates of their own 
consciences, and pursue their lawful avocations 
without fear of molestation. 

In Europe my parents had two sons and one 
daughter; their names were John, Thomas and 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



25 



Betsey; with whom, after having put their effects on 
board, they embarked, leaving a large connection of 
relatives and friends, under all those painful sensa- 
tions, which are only felt when kindred souls give 
the parting hand and last farewell to those to whom 
they are endeared by every friendly tie. 

During their voyage I was born, to be the sport 
of fortune and almost an outcast to civil society; to 
stem the current of adversity through a long chain 
of vicissitudes, unsupported by the advice of tender 
parents, or the hand of an affectionate friend; and 
even without the enjoyment, from others, of any of 
those tender sympathies which are calculated to 
sweeten the joys of life, except such as naturally 
flow from uncultivated minds, that have been render- 
ed callous by ferocity. 

Excepting my birth, nothing remarkable occurred 
to my parents on their passage, and they were safely 
landed at Philadelphia. My father being fond of 
rural life, and having been bred to agricultural pur- 
suits, soon left the city, and removed his family to 
a tract of excellent land lying on Marsh Creek on 
the frontier settlement of Pennsylvania. At that 
place he cleared a large farm, and for seven or eight 
years enjoyed the fruits of his industry. Peace 
attended their labors; and they had nothing to alarm 
them, save the midnight howl of the prowling wolf, 
or the terrifying shriek of the ferocious panther, 
as they occasionally visited the improvements, to 
take a lamb or a calf to satisfy their hunger. 

During this period my mother had two sons, be- 
tween whose ages there was a difference of about 
three years: the oldest was named Matthew, and 
the other Robert. 

Health presided on every countenance, and vigor 
and strength characterized every exertion. Our 



26 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS* 



mansion was a little paradise. The morning of my 
childish, happy days, will ever stand fresh in my 
memory, notwithstanding the many severe trials 
through which I have passed, in arriving at my 
present situation, at so advanced an age. Even at 
this remote period, the recollection of my pleasant 
home at my father's, of my parents, of my brothers 
and sister, and of the manner in which I was depri- 
ved of them all at once, affects me so powerfully, 
that I am almost overwhelmed with grief that is 
seemingly insupportable. Frequently I dream of 
those happy days: but, alas! they are gone: they 
have left me to be carried through a long life, de- 
pendent for the little pleasures of nearly seventy 
years, upon the tender mercies of the Indians! In 
the spring of 1752, and through the succeeding sea- 
sons, the stories of Indian barbarities inflicted upon 
the whites in those days, frequently excited in my 
parents the most serious alarm for our safety. 

The next year the storm gathered faster; many 
murders were committed; and many captives were 
exposed to meet death in its most frightful form, 
by having their bodies stuck full of pine splinters 
which were immediately set on fire, while their tor- 
mentors were exulting in their distress and rejoicing 
in their agony. 

In 1754, an army for the protection of the settlers, 
and to drive back the French and Indians, was raised 
from the militia of the colonial governments, and 
placed (secondarily) under the command of Colonel 
George Washington. In that army I had an uncle 
whose name was John Jemison, who was killed at 
the battle of the Great Meadows, or Fort Necessity. 
His wife had died some time before this, and left a 
young child, which my mother nursed in the most 
tender manner, till its mother's sister took it away 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



27 



a few months after my uncle's death. The French 
and Indians, after the surrender of Fort Necessity 
by Col. Washington, ' (which happened the same 
season, and soon after his victory over them at that 
•place,) grew more and more terrible. The death 
of the whites, and the plundering and burning their 
property, was apparently their only object: But as 
yet we had not heard the death-yell, nor seen the 
smoke of a dwelling that had been lit by an Indian's 
tiand. 

The return of a new-year 9 s day found us unmo- 
lested; and though we knew that the enemy was at 
no great distance from us, my father concluded that 
he would continue to occupy his land another season: 
expecting (probably from the great exertions which 
the government was then making) that as soon as 
the troops could commence their operations in the 
spring, the enemy would be conquered and compelled 
to agree to a treaty of 5 peace. 

In the preceding autumn my fatlier either moved 
to another part of his farm, or to another neighbor- 
hood, a short distance from our former abode. I 
well recollect moving, and that the barn that was on 
the place we moved to was built of logs, though the 
house was a good one. 

The winter of 1754 — 5 was as mild as common 
fall seasons, and spring presented a pleasant seed 
time, and indicated a plenteous harvest. My father, 
with the assistance of his oldest sons, repaired his 
farm as usual, and was daily preparing the soil for 
the reception of seed. His cattle and sheep were 
numerous, and according to the best idea of wealth 
that I can now form, he was wealthy. 

But alas! how transitory are all human affairs! 
how fleeting are riches! how brittle the invisible 
thread on which all earthly comforts are suspended! 



28 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



Peace in a moment can take an immeasurable flight; 
health can lose its rosy cheeks; and life will vanish 
like a vapor at the appearance of the sun! In one 
fatal day our prospects were all blasted; and death, 
by cruel hands, inflicted upon almost the whole of 
the family. 

My education had received as much attention from 
my parents, as their situation in a new country would 
admit I had been at school some, where I lear- 
ned to read in a book that was about half as large 
as a Bible; and in the Bible I had read a little. I 
had also learned the Catechism, which I used fre- 
quently to repeat to my parents; and every night, 
before I went to bed, I was obliged to stand up before 
my mother and repeat some words that I supposed 
was a prayer. 

My reading, catechism, and prayers, I have long 
since forgotten; though for a number of the first 
years that I lived with the Indians, I repeated the 
prayers as often as I had an opportunity. After the 
revolutionary war, I remembered the names of some 
of the letters when I saw them; but have never read 
a word since I was taken prisoner. It is but a few 
years since a Missionary kindly gave me a Bible, 
which I am very fond of hearing my neighbors read 
to me, and should be pleased to learn to read it my- 
self; but my sight for a number of years has been 
so dim, that I have not been able to distinguish on& 
letter from another. 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



29 



CHAPTER II. 

On a pleasant day in the spring of 1755, when my 
father was sowing flax-seed, and my brothers driving 
the teams, I was sent to a neighbor's house, a dis- 
tance of perhaps a mile, to procure a horse and 
return with it next morning.. I went as I was direc- 
ted. I went out of the house to which I had been 
sent in the beginning of the evening, and saw a 
sheet wide spread approaching toward me, in which 
I was caught (as I have ever since believed) and 
deprived of my senses! The family soon found me 
on the ground, almost lifeless (as they said,) took 
me in, and made use of every remedy in their power 
for my recovery, but without effect till day-break, 
when my senses returned, and I soon found myself 
in good health, so that I went home with the horse 
very early in the morning. 

The appearance of that sheet, I have ever consid- 
ered as a forerunner of the melancholy catastrophe 
that so soon afterwards happened to our family: and 
my being caught in it, I believe, was ominous of 
my preservation from death at the time we were 
captured. 

As I before observed, I got home with my horse 
very early in the morning, where I found a man 
who lived in our neighborhood, and his sister-in-law 
who had three children, one son and two daughters. 
I soon learned that they had come there to live a 
short time; but for what purpose I cannot say. The 
woman's husband, however, was at that time in 
Washington's army, fighting for his country; and as 
her brother-in-law had a house she had lived with 
him in his absence. Their names I have forgotten. 
Immediately after I got home, the man took the 



30 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



horse to go to his own house after a bag of grain, and 
took his gun in his hand for the purpose of killing 
some game, if he should chance to see any. Our 
family as usual, were busily employed about their 
common business. Father was shaving an axe-helve 
at the side of the house; mother was making prep- 
arations for breakfast; my two oldest brothers were 
at work near the barn; and the little ones, with 
myself, and the woman and her three children, 
were in the house. 

Breakfast was not yet ready when we were 
alarmed by the discharge of a number of guns that 
seemed to be near. Mother and the woman before 
mentioned, almost fainted at the report, and every 
one trembled with fear. On opening the door, the 
man and horse lay dead near the house, having just 
been shot by the Indians. 

I was afterwards informed, that the Indians dis- 
covered him at his own house with his gun, and pur- 
sued him to father's where they shot him as I have 
related. They first, secured my father, and then 
rushed into the house, and without the least resis- 
tance made prisoners of my mother, brothers and 
sister, the woman, her three children and myself, 
and then commenced plundering. 

My two brothers, Thomas and John, being at the 
barn, escaped and went to Virginia, where my 
grandfather Erwin then lived, as I was informed by 
a Mr. Fields, who was at my house about the close 
of the revolutionary war. 

The party that took us consisted of six Indians and 
four Frenchmen, who immediately commenced plun- 
dering, as I just observed, and took what they con- 
sidered most valuable; consisting principally of 
bread, meal and meat. Having taken as much pro- 
vision as they could carry, they set out with their 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS* 



31 



prisoners in great haste for fear of detection, and 
soon entered the woods. On our march that day, 
an Indian went behind us with a whip, with which 
he frequently lashed the children to make them keep 
up. In this manner we travelled till dark without 
a mouthful of food or a drop of water, although we 
had not eaten since the night before. Whenever 
the little children cried for water, the Indians would 
make them drink urine or go thirsty. At night they 
encamped in the woods, without fire and without 
shelter, where we were watched with the greatest 
vigilance. Extremely fatigued, and very hungry, 
we were compelled to lie upon the ground, without 
supper or a drop of water to satisfy the cravings of 
our appetites. As in the day time, so the little 
ones were made to drink urine in the night if they 
cried for water. Fatigue alone brought us a little 
sleep for the refreshment of our weary limbs; and 
at the dawn of day we were again started on our 
march, in the same order that we had proceeded 
the day before. About sunrise we were halted, and 
the Indians gave us a full breakfast of provision 
that they had brought from my father's house. Each 
of us being very hungry, partook of this bounty of 
the Indians, except father, who was so much over- 
come with his situation — so much exhausted by anx- 
iety and grief, that silent despair seemed fastened 
upon his countenance, and he could not be prevailed 
upon to refresh his sinking nature by the use of a 
morsel of food. Our repast being finished, we again 
resumed our march, and before noon passed a small 
fort that I heard my father say was called Fort 
Canagojigge. 

That was the only time that I heard him speak 
from the time we were taken till we were finally 
separated the following night. 



32 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



Towards evening we arrived at the border of a 
dark and dismal swamp, which was covered with 
small hemlocks or some other evergreen, and vari- 
ous kinds of bushes, into which we were conducted; 
and having gone a short distance, we stopped to en- 
camp for the night. 

Here we had some bread and meat for supper; 
but the dreariness of our situation, together with the 
uncertainty under which we all labored, as to our 
future destiny, almost deprived us of the sense of 
hunger, and destroyed our relish for food. 

Mother, from the time we were taken, had mani- 
fested a great degree of fortitude, and encouraged 
us to support our troubles without complaining; and 
by her conversation, seemed to make fhe distance 
and time shorter, and the way more smooth. But 
father lost all his ambition in the beginning of our 
trouble, and continued apparently lost to every care 
— absorbed in melancholy. Here, as before, she 
insisted on the necessity of our eating; and we 
obeyed her, but it was done with heavy hearts. 

As soon as I had finished my supper, an Indian 
took off my shoes and stockings, and put a pair of 
moccasins on my feet, which my mother observed; 
and believing that they would spare my life, even 
if they should destroy the other captives, addressed 
me as near as I can remember, in the following 
words: — 

"My dear little Mary, I fear that the time has 
arrived when we must be parted for ever. Your 
life, my child, I think will be spared; but we shall 
probably be tomahawked here in this lonesome 
place by the Indians. Oh! how can I part with 
you my darling? What will become of my sweet lit- 
tle Mary? Oh! how can I think of your being con- 
tinued in captivity without a hope of your being 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



33 



rescued? Oh that death had snatched you from my 
embraces in your infancy; the pain of parting then 
would have been pleasing to what it now is; and I 
should have seen the end of your troubles! Alas, my 
dear! my heart bleeds at the thought of what awaits 
you; but, if you leave us, remember my child your 
own name, and the name of your father and mother. 
Be careful and not forget your English tongue. If 
you shall have an opportunity to get away from the 
Indians, don't try to escape; for if you do they will 
find and destroy you. Don't forget, my little daugh- 
ter, the prayers that I have learned you — say them 
often; be a good child, and God will bless you.-^- 
May God bless you, my child, and make you com- 
fortable and happy.' 

During this time, the Indians stripped the shoes 
and stockings from the little boy that belonged to the 
woman who was taken with us, and put moccasins 
on his feet, as they had done before on mine. I 
was crying. An Indian took the little boy and my- 
self by the hand, to lead us off from the company, 
when my mother exclaimed, "Don't cry, Mary — 
don't cry, my child. God will bless you! Farewell 
— farewell!" 

The Indian led us some distance into the bushes, or 
woods, and there lay down with us to spend the night. 
The recollection of parting with my tender mother 
kept me awake, while the tears constantly flowed 
from my eyes. A number of times in the night the 
little boy begged of me earnestly to run away with 
him and get clear of the Indians; but remembering 
the advice I had so lately received, and knowing the 
dangers to which we should be exposed, in travel- 
ling without a path and without a guide, through a 
wilderness unknown to us, I told him that I would 
not go, and persuaded him to lie still till morning. 



34 



BEH-HE-WA-MIS, 



Early tire next morning the Indians and French- 
men that we had left the night before, came to us; 
but our friends were left behind. It is impossible 
for any one to form a correct idea of what my' feel- 
ings were at the sight of those savages, whom I sup- 
posed had murdered my parents and brothers, sister 
and friends, and left them in the swamp to be de- 
voured by wild beasts! But what could I do? A poor 
little defenceless girl; without the power or means 
of escaping; without a home to go to, even if I 
could be liberated; without a knowledge of the di- 
rection or distance to my former place of residence; 
and without a living friend to whom to fly for pro- 
tection, I felt a kind of horror, anxiety, and dread, 
that, to me, seemed insupportable. I durst not cry 
— I durst not complain; and to inquire of them the 
fate of mv friends (even if I could have mustered 
resolution) was beyond my ability, as I could not 
speak their language, nor they understand mine. — 
My only relief was in silent stifled sobs. 

My suspicions as to the fate of my parents proved 
too true; for soon after I left them they were killed 
and scalped, together with Robert, Matthew, Betsey 
and the woman and her two children, and mangled 
in the most shocking manner. 

Having given the little boy and myself some 
bread and meat for breakfast, they led us on as 
fast as we could travel, and one of them went be- 
hind with a long staff, poking up all the grass and 
weeds that we trailed down by going over them. 
By taking that precaution they avoided detection; 
for each weed was so nicely placed in its natural 
position that no one would have suspected that we 
had passed that way. It is the custom of Indians, 
when scouting, or on private expeditions, to step 
carefully and where no impression of their feet can 



BEH-HE-WA-MIS* 



35 



be left — shunning wet or muddy ground. They 
seldom take hold of a bush or limb, and never break 
one; and by observing these precautions and that 
of setting up the weeds and grass which they neces- 
sarily lop, they completely elude the sagacity of 
their pursuers, and escape that punishment which 
they are conscious they merit from the hand of jus- 
tice. 

After a hard day's march we encamped in a 
thicket, where the Indians made a shelter of boughs, 
and then built a good fire to warm and dry our be- 
numbed limbs and clothing; for it had rained some 
through the day. Here we were again fed as be- 
fore. When the Indians had finished their supper, 
they took from their baggage a number of scalps 
and went about preparing them for the market, or to 
keep without spoiling, by straining them over small 
hoops which they prepared for that purpose, and then 
drying and scraping them by the fire. Having put 
the scalps, yet wet and bloody, upon the hoops, and 
stretched them to their full extent, they held them to 
the fire till they were partly dried, and then with 
their knives commenced scraping off the flesh; and 
in that way they continued to work, alternately dry- 
ing and scraping them, till they were dry and clean. 
That being done they combed the hair in the neat- 
est manner, and then painted it and the edges of the 
scalps, yet on the hoops, red. Those scalps I knew 
at the time must have been taken from our family 
by the color of the hair. My mother's hair was 
red; and I could easily distinguish my father's and 
the children's from each other. That sight was 
most appaling; yet, I was obliged to endure it with- 
out complaining. In the course of the night they 
made me to understand that they should not have 
killed the family if the whites had not pursued them. 



36 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



Mr. Fields, whom I have before mentioned, in- 
formed me that at the time we were taken, he lived 
in the vicinity of my father; and that on hearing of 
our captivity, the whole neighborhood turned out in 
pursuit of t&e enemy, and to deliver us if possible; 
but that their efforts were unavailing. They howe- 
ver pursued us to the dark swamp, where they 
found my father, his family and companions, strip- 
ped and mangled in the most inhuman manner: that 
from thence the march of the cruel monsters could 
not be traced in any direction; and that they retur- 
ned to their homes with the melancholy tidings of 
our misfortunes, supposing we had all shared in the 
massacre. 

The next morning we pursued our journey, an 
Indian going behind us and setting up the weeds as 
on the day before. At night we encamped on the 
ground in the open air, without a shelter .or fire. 

In the morning we again set out early, and tra- 
velled as on the two former days, though the weather 
was extremely uncomfortable, from the continual 
falling of rain and snow. 

At night the snow fell fast, and the Indians built 
a shelter of boughs, and kindled a fire, where we 
rested tolerably dry through that and the two suc- 
ceeding nights. 

When we stopped, and before the fire was kindled, 
I was so much fatigued from running, and so far 
benumbed by the wet and cold, that I expected that 
I must fail and die before I could get warm and 
comfortable. The fire, however, soon restored the 
circulation of blood, and after I had taken my sup- 
per, I felt so that I rested well through the night. 

On account of the storm, we were two days at 
that place. On one of those days, a party consist- 
ing of six Indians who had been to the frontier set- 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS* 



37 



tlements, came to where we were, and brought with 
them one prisoner, a young white man who was 
very tired and dejected. His name I have forgotten, 

Misery certainly loves company. I was extremely 
glad to see him, though I knew : from his appear- 
ance, that his situation was as deplorable as my 
own, and that he could afford me no kind of assist- 
ance. In the afternoon the Indians killed a deer, 
which they dressed, and then roasted whole; which 
made them a full meal. We were each allowed a 
share of their venison, and some bread, so that we 
made a good meal also. 

Having spent three nights and two days at that 
place, and the storm having ceased, early in the 
morning the whole company, consisting of twelve 
Indians, four Frenchmen, the young man, the little 
boy and myself, moved on at a moderate pace, with- 
out taking the previously adopted precautions to 
obliterate or hide our trail. 

In the afternoon we came in sight of Fort Du 
Quesne, (since Fort Pitt, now Pittsburg) where we . 
halted, while the Indians performed some ceremo- 
nies in conformity to their customs on such occa- 
sions. That fort was then occupied by the French 
and Indians. It stood at the junction of the Monoi> 
gahela, (Falling-in-Banks,) and Allegany rivers, 
where the Ohio river begins to take its name. The 
word O-hi-o, signifies bloody. 

At the place where we halted, the Indians combed 
the hair of the young man, the boy and myself, 
and then painted our faces and hair red, in the fi- 
nest Indian style. We were then conducted into 
the fort ? where we received a little bread, and were 
then shut up in an uninhabited house, and left to 
tarry alone through the night. 



SB DEH-HE-WA-MISn 



CHAPTER III. 

The night was spent in gloomy forebodings.— 
What the result of our captivity would be, it was 
out of our power to determine or even imagine. 
At times we could almost realize the approach of 
our masters to butcher and scalp us; again we 
could nearly see the pile of wood kindled on which 
we were to be roasted; and then we would imagine 
ourselves at liberty, alone and defenceless in the 
forest, surrounded by wild beasts that were ready to 
devour us. The anxiety of our minds drove sleep 
from our eyelids; and it was with a dreadful hope 
and painful impatience that we waited for the morn- 
ing to determine our fate. 

The morning at length arrived, and our masters 
came early and let us out of the house, and gave the 
young man and boy to the French, who immediately 
took them away. Their fate I never learned, as I 
have not seen nor heard of them since. 

I was now left alone in the fort, deprived of my 
former companions, and of every thing that was 
near or dear to me but life. But it was not long 
before I was in some measure relieved by the ap- 
pearance of two pleasant looking squaws of the Se- 
neca tribe, who came and examined me attentively 
for a short time, and then went out. After a few 
minutes absence they returned in company with my 
former masters, who gave me to the squaws to dis- 
pose of as they pleased. 

The Indians by whom I was taken were a party 
of Shawanees, if I remember right, that lived, when 
at home, a long distance down the Ohio. 

My former Indian masters, and the two squaws, 
were soon ready to leave the fort, and accordingly 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



39 



embarked; the Indians in a large canoe, and the 
two squaws and myself in a small one, and went 
down the Ohio. When we set off, an Indian in the 
forward canoe took the scalps of my former friends, 
strung them on a pole that he placed upon his shoul- 
der, and in that manner carried them, standing in the 
stern of the canoe directly before us as we sailed down 
the river, to the town where the two squaws resided. 

On the way we passed a Shawanee town, where 
I saw a number of heads, arms, legs, and other 
fragments of the bodies of some white people who 
had just been burned. The parts that remained were 
hanging on a pole which was supported at each end 
by a crotch stuck in the ground, and were roasted 
or burnt black as a coal. The fire was yet burning; 
and the whole appearance afforded a spectacle so 
shocking, that, even to this day, the blood almost 
curdles in my veins when I think of them! 

At night we arrived at a small Seneca Indian 
town, at the mouth of a small river that was called 
by the Indians, in the Seneca language, She-nan-jee, 
about eighty miles by water from the fort, where 
the two squaws to whom I belonged resided. There 
we landed, and the Indians went on; which was the 
last I ever saw of them. 

Having made fast to the shore, the squaws left 
me in the canoe while they went to their wigwam 
or house in the town, and returned with a suit of 
Indian clothing, all new, and very clean and nice. 
My clothes, though whole and good when I was 
taken, were now torn in pieces, so that I was al- 
most naked. They first undressed me and threw 
my rags into, the river; then washed me clean and 
dressed me in the. new suit they had just brought, in 
complete Indian style; and then led me home and 
seated me in the center of their wigwam. 



40 



DEH-KE-WA-MIS. 



I had been in that situation but a few minutes be- 
fore all the squaws in the town came in to see me. 
I was soon surrounded by them, and they immedi- 
ately set up a most dismal howling, crying bitterly, 
and wringing their hands in all the agonies of grief 
for a deceased relative. 

Their tears flowed freely, and they exhibited all 
the signs of real mourning. At the commencement 
of this scene, one of their number began, in a voice 
somewhat between speaking and singing, to recite 
some words to the following purport, and continued 
the recitation till the ceremony was ended; the com- 
pany at the same time varying the appearance of 
their countenances, gestures, and tone of voice, so 
as to correspond with the sentiments expressed by 
their leader: 

"Oh our brother! alas! he is dead — he has gone-; 
he will never return! Friendless he died on the field 
of the slain, where his bones are yet lying unburied! 
Oh, who will not mourn his sad fate? No tears drop- 
ped around him: oh, no! No tears of his sisters were 
there! He fell in his prime, when his arm was most 
needed to keep us from danger] Alas! he has gone! 
and left us in sorrow, his loss to bewail: Oh where 
is his spirit? His spirit went naked, and hungry it 
wanders, and thirsty and wounded it groans to re- 
turn! Oh helpless and wretched, our brother has 
gone! No blanket nor food to nourish and warm 
him; nor candles to light him, nor weapons of war: 
Oh, none of those comforts had he! But well we 
remember his deeds! — The deer he could take on the 
chase! The panther shrunk back at the sight of his 
strength! His enemies fell at his feet! He was brave 
and courageous in war! As the fawn he was harm- 
less: his friendship was ardent: his temper was 
gentle: his pity was great! Oh! our friend, our com- 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



41 



panion is dead! Our brother, our brother, alas! he 
is gone! But why do we grieve for his loss] In the 
strength of a warrior, undaunted he left us, to fight 
by the side of the Chiefs! His war-whoop was shrill! 
His rifle well aimed laid his enemies low: his toma- 
hawk drank of their blood: and his knife flayed 
their scalps while yet covered with gore! And why 
do we mourn? Though he fell on the field of the 
slain, with glory he fell, and his spirit went up to 
the land of his fathers in war! Then why do we 
mourn? With transports of joy they received him, 
and fed him, and clothed him, and welcomed him 
there! Oh friends, he is happy; then dry up your 
tears! His spirit, has seen our distress, and sent us a 
helper whom with pleasure we greet. Deh-he-wa- 
mis has come: then let us receive her with joy! — 
she is handsome and pleasant! Oh! she is our sister, 
and gladly we welcome her here. In the place of 
our brother she stands in our tribe. With care we 
will guard her from trouble; and may she bo happy 
till her spirit shall leave us." 

In the course of that ceremony, from mourning 
they became serene — joy sparkled in their counte- 
nances, and they seemed to rejoice over me as over 
a long lost child I was made welcome amongst 
them as a sister to the two squaws before mentioned, 
and was called Deh-he-wa-mis; which being inter- 
preted, signifies a pretty girl, a handsome girl, or a 
pleasant, good thing. That is the name by which 
I have ever since been called by the Indians. 

I afterwards learned that the ceremony I at that 
time passed through, was that of adoption. The two 
squaws had lost a brother in Washington's war, 
sometime in the year before, and in consequence of 
his death went up to Fort Du Quesne on the day on 
which I arrived there, in order to receive a prisoner 



42 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



or an enemy's scalp, to supply their loss. It is a 
custom of the Indians, when one of their number 
is slain or taken prisoner in battle, to give to the , 
nearest relative of the dead or absent, a prisoner, 
if they have chanced to take one, and if not, to I 
give him the scalp of an enemy. On the return 
of the Indians from conquest, which is always an- 
nounced by peculiar shoutings, demonstrations of 
joy, and the exhibition of some trophy of victory, 
the mourners come forward and make their claims. I 
If they receive a prisoner it is at their option either j 
to satiate their vengeance by taking his life in the j 
most cruel manner they can conceive of, or to re- 
ceive and adopt him into the family, in the place of 
him whom they have lost. All the prisoners that 
are taken in battle and carried to the encampment 
or town by the Indians, are given to the bereaved 
families, till their number is made good. And un- 
less the mourners have but just received the news 
of their bereavement and are under the operation of 
a paroxysm of grief, anger, or revenge; or, unless 
the prisoner is very old, sickly, or homely, they ge- 
nerally save them and treat them kindly. But if 
their mental wound is fresh, their loss so great that 
they deem it irreparable, or if their piisoner or pri- 
soners do not meet their approbation, no torture, let 
it be ever so cruel, seems sufficient to make them 
satisfaction. It is family, and not national sacrifi- 
ces amongst the Indians, that has given them an in- 
delible stamp as barbarians, and identified their cha- 
racter with the idea which is generally formed of un- 
feeling ferocity, and the most barbarous cruelty. 

It was my happy lot to be accepted for adoption. 
At the time of the ceremony I was received by the. 
two squaws to supply the place of their brother in 
the family; and I was ever considered and treated 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



43 



by them as a real sister, the same as though I had 
been born of their mother. 

During the ceremony of my adoption, I sat mo- 
tionless, nearly terrified to death at the appearance 
and actions of the company, expecting every mo- 
ment to feel their vengeance, and suffer death on the 
spot. I was, however, happily disappointed, when 
at the close of the ceremony the company retired, 
and my sisters commenced employing every means 
for my consolation and comfort. 

Being now settled and provided with a home, I 
was employed in nursing the children, and doing 
light work about the house. Occasionally I was sent 
out with the Indian hunters, when they went but a 
short distance, to help them carry their game. My 
situation was easy; I had no particular hardships to 
endure. But still, the recollection of my parents, 
my brothers and sisters, my home, and my own cap- 
tivity, destroyed my happiness, and made me con- 
stantly solitary, lonesome, and gloomy. 

My sisters would not allow me to speak English 
in their hearing; but remembering the charge that 
my dear mother gave me at the time I left her, 
whenever I chanced to be alone I made a business 
of repeating my prayer, catechism, or something I 
had learned in order that I might not forget my own 
language. By practising in that way I retaind it 
till I came to Genesee flats, where I soon became 
acquainted with English people with whom I have 
been almost daily in the habit of conversing. 

My sisters were very diligent in teaching me 
their language; and to their great satisfaction, I 
soon learned so that I could understand it readily, 
and speak it fluently. I was very fortunate in fall- 
ing into their hands; for they were kind, good na- 
tured women; peaceable and mild in their disposi- 



44 



DEII-HE-WA-MIS. 



tions; temperate and decent in their habits, and 
very tender and gentle towards me. I have great 
reason to respect them, though they have been dead 
a great number of years. 

The town where they lived was pleasantly situa- 
ted on the Ohio, at the mouth of the Shenanjee; 
the land produced good corn; the woods furnished 
plenty of game, and the waters abounded with 
fish. Another river emptied itself into the Ohio, 
directly opposite the mouth of the Shenanjee. We 
spent the summer at that place, where we planted, 
hoed, and harvested a large crop of corn of excel- 
lent quality. 

About the time of our corn harvest, Fort Du 
Quesne was taken from the French by the English, 
and called Fort Pitt. 

The corn being harvested, the Indians took it on > 
horses and in canoes, and with us proceeded down | 
the Ohio, occasionally stopping to hunt a few days, 
till we arrived at the mouth of Sciota river; where [ 
they established their winter quarters, and continued 
tenting till the ensuing spring, in the adjacent wil- 
derness. While at that place I went with the other [ 
children to assist the hunters to bring in their game. ) 
The forests on the Sciota were well stocked with j 
elk, deer, and other large animals; and the marshes | 
contained large numbers of beaver, muskrat, &a, \ 
which made excellent hunting for the Indians; who \ 
depended, for their meat, upon their success in taking , 
elk and deer; and for ammunition and clothing, upon j 
the beaver, muskrat, and other furs that they could 
take in addition to their peltry. \ 

The season for hunting being passed, we all re- \ 
turned in the spring to the mouth of the river She- i 
nanjee, to the houses and fields we had left in the 
fall before. There we again planted our corn, j 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



45 



squashes, and beans, on the fields that we occupied 
the preceding summer. 

About planting time, our Indians all went up to 
Fort Pitt, to make peace with the British, and took 
me with them. We landed on the opposite side of 
the river from the fort, and encamped for the night. 
Early the next morning the Indians took me over to 
the fort to see the white people who were there. It 
was then that my heart bounded to be liberated from 
the Indians and to be restored to my friends and my 
country. The white people were surprised to see 
me with the Indians, enduring the hardships of a 
savage life, at so early an age, and with so delicate 
a constitution as I appeared to possess. They asked 
me my name; where and when I was taken — and 
appeared very much interested on my behalf, They 
were continuing their enquiries, when my sisters 
became alarmed, and believing I should be taken 
from them, hurried me into their canoe and recrossed 
the river — took their bread out of the fire and fled 
with me, without stopping, till they arrived at the 
river Shenanjee. So great was their fear of losing 
me, or of my being given up in the treaty, that 
they never once stopped rowing till they got home. 

Shortly after we left the shore opposite the fort, 
as I was informed by one of my Indian brothers, 
the white people came over to take me back; but 
after considerable inquiry, and having made diligent 
search to find where I was hid, they returned with 
heavy hearts. Although I had then been with the 
Indians something over a year, and had become 
considerably habituated to their mode of living, and 
attached to my sisters, the sight of white people whr> 
could speak English inspired me with an unspeaka- 
ble anxiety to go home with them, and share in the 
blessings of civilization. My sudden departure and 



46 



DEH-KE-WA-MISL 



escape from them, seemed like a second captivity, 
and for a long time I brooded over the thoughts of 
my miserable situation with almost as much sorrow 
and dejection as I had done over those of my first 
sufferings. Time, the destroyer of every affection, 
wore away my unpleasant feelings, and I became 
as contented as before. We tended our cornfields 
through the summer; and after we had harvested the 
crop, we again went down the river to the hunting 
ground's on the Sciota, where we spent the winter, 
as we had done the winter before. 

Early in the spring we sailed up the Ohio river j 
to a place that the Indians called Wi-ish-to, where 
one river emptied into the Ohio on one side, and 
another on the other, about eighty or ninety miles 
above the mouth of the Sciota. At that place the 
Indians built a town, and we planted corn. 

We lived three summers at Wiishto, and spent 
each winter on the Sciota. 

The first summer of our living at Wiishto, a 
party of Delaware Indians came up the river, took 
up their residence, and lived in common with us.- I 
They brought five white prisoners with them, who 
by their conversation, made my situation much 
more agreeable, as they could all speak English. I 
have forgotten the names of all of them except one, 
which was Priscilla Ramsay. She was a very 
handsome, good natured girl, and was married soon 1 
after she came to Wiishto to Captain Little Billy's < 
uncle, who went with her on a visit to her friends 
in the states. Having tarried with them as long as 
she wished to, she returned with her husband to 1 
Oan-a?ah-tua, where he died. She, after his death, 
married a white man by the name of Nettles, and 
now lives with him (if she is living) on Grand River. 
Upper Canada. 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



47 



Not long after the Delawares came to live with 
us at Wiishto, my sisters told me that I must go and 
live with one of them whose name was She-nin-jee. 
Not daring to cross them or disobey their commands, 
with a great degree of reluctance I went; and 
Sheninjee and I were married according to Indian, 
custom* 

Sheninjee was a noble man; large in stature; 
elegant in his appearance; generous in his conduct; 
courageous in war; a friend to peace, and a great 
lover of justice. He supported a degree of dignity 
far above his rank, and merited and received the 
confidence and friendship of all the tribes with whom 
he was acquainted. Yet, Sheninjee was an Indian. 
The idea of my spending my days with him, at first 
seemed perfectly irreconcilable to my feelings; but 
his good nature, generosity, tenderness, and friend- 
ship towards me, soon gained my affection; and, 
strange as it may seem, I loved him! — To me he was 
ever kind in sickness, and always treated me with 
gentleness; in fact, he was an agreeable husband, 
and a comfortable companion. We lived happily 
together till the time of our final separation, which 
happened two or three years after our marriage. 

In the second summer of my living at Wiishto, I 
had a child at the time that the kernels of corn first 
appeared on the cob. When I was taken sick, 
Sheninjee was absent, and I was sent to a small 
shed, on the bank of the river, which was made of 
boughs, where I was obliged to stay till my husband 
returned. My two sisters, who were my only com- 
panions, attended me, and on the second day of my 
confinement my child was born; but it lived only 
two days. It was a girl : and notwithstanding the 
shortness of the time that I possessed it, it was a 
great grief to me to lose it* 



48 



DEH-HE-WA-M1S 



After the birth of my child, I was very sick, but 
was not allowed to go into the house for two weeks; 
when, to my great joy, Sheninjee returned, and I 
was taken in and as comfortably provided for as our 
situation would admit. My disease continued to in- 
crease for a number of days; and I became so far 
reduced that my recovery was despaired of by my 
friends, and I concluded that my troubles would soon 
be finished. At length, however, my complaint took 
a favorable turn, and by the time the corn was 
ripe I was able to get about. . I continued to gain 
my health, and in the fall was able to go to our 
winter quarters, on the Sciota, with the Indians. 

From that time, nothing remarkable occurred to 
me till the fourth winter of my captivity, when I 
had a son born, while I was at Sciota: I had a quisk 
recovery, and my child was healthy. To commem- 
orate the name of my much lamented father, I called 
my son Thomas Jemison, 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



49 



CHAPTER IV. 

In the spring, when Thomas was three or four 
moons [months] old, we returned from Sciota to 
Wiishto, and soon after set out to go to Fort Pitt, 
to dispose of our furs and skins that we had taken in 
the winter, and procure some necessary articles for 
the use of our family. 

I had then been with the Indians four summers 
and four winters, and had become so far accustomed 
to their mode of living, habits, and dispositions, that 
my anxiety to get away, to be set at liberty and 
leave them, had almost subsided. With them was 
my home; my family was there, and there I had 
many friends to whom I was warmly attached in 
consideration of the favors, affection, and friendship 
with Wjhich they had uniformly treated me from the 
time of my adoption. Our labor was not severe; 
and that of one year was exactly similar in almost 
every respect, to that of the others, without that 
endless variety that is to be observed in the common 
labor of the white people. Notwithstanding the In- 
dian women have all the fuel and bread to procure, 
and the cooking to perform, their task is probably 
not harder than that of white women, who have 
those articles provided for them; and their cares 
certainly are not half as numerous, nor as great. 
In the summer season, we planted, tended, and har- 
vested our corn, and generally had all our children 
with us; but had no master to oversee or drive us, 
so that we could work as leisurely as we pleased. 
We had no ploughs on the Ohio, but performed the 
w T hole process of planting and hoeing with a small 
tool that resembled, in some respects, a hoe with a 
very short handle. 

D 



50 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



We pursued our farming busines according to the 
general custom of Indian women, which is as fol- 
lows: In order to expedite their business, and at the 
nae time enjoy each other's company, they all work 
together in one field, or at whatever job they may 
have on hand. In the spring they choose an old 
. . ve squaw to be their driver and overseer when 
at labor, for the ensuing year. She accepts the 
honor, and they consider themselves bound to obey 
her. 

When the time for planting arrives and the soil 
is prepared, the squaws are assembled in the mor- 
ning and conducted into a field, where each plants 
one row. They then go into the next field and 
plant once across, and so on till they have gone 
through the tribe. If any remains to be planted, 
they again commence where they did at first, (in 
the same field,) and so keep on till the whol% is fin- 
ished. .By this rule they perform their labor of 
every kind, and every jealousy of one having done 
more or less than another is effectually avoided. 

Each squaw cuts her own wood; but it is all 
brought to the house under the direction of the 
overseer. 

Their method of computing time was by moons 
and waiters: a moon is a month . and the time from 
the end of one winter to that of another, a year. 

From sunset till sunrise, they say that the sun is 
asleep. In the old of the moon, when it does not 
shine in the night, they say it is dead. They re- 
joice greatly at the sight of the new moon. 

In order to commemorate great events and pre- 
serve the chronology of them, the war Chief in each 
t ?, ibe keeps a war post. This post is a peeled stick 
of timber ten or twelve feet high, that is erected in 
the town. For a campaign they make, or rather 



DEH-HE-WA-MtS, 



11 



the Chief makes, a perpendicular red mark, about 
three inches long and half an inch wide; on the op- 
posite side from this, for a scalp, they make a red 
cross, thus, -[-; on another side, for a prisoner taken 
alive, they make a red cross in this manner, ^ , 
with a head or dot, and by placing such significant 
hieroglyphics in so conspicuous a situation, they 
are enabled to ascertain with great certainty the 
time and circumstances of past events, 

Hiokatoo had a war-post on which was recorded 
his military exploits, and other things that he thought 
worth preserving. 

Our cooking consisted in pounding our corn into 
samp or homminy, boiling the homminy, making 
now and then a cake and baking it in the ashes, and 
in boiling or roasting our venison. As our cooking 
and eating utensils consisted of a homminy block 
and pestle, a small kettle, a knife or two, and a few 
vessels of bark or wood, it required but little time 
to keep them in order for use. 

Spinning, weaving, sewing, stocking knitting, 
and the like, are arts which have never been prac- 
ticed in the Indian tribes generally. After the re- 
volutionary war, I learned to sew, so that I eould 
make my own clothing after a poor fashion; but I 
have been wholly ignorant of the application of the 
other domestic arts since my captivity. In the sea- 
son of hunting, it was our business in addition to our 
cooking, to bring home the game that was taken by 
the Indians, dress it, and carefully preserve the eat- 
able meat, and prepare or dress the skins. Our 
clothing was fastened together with strings of deer 
skin, and tied on with the same. 

In that manner we lived, without any of those 
jealousies, quarrels, and revengeful battles between 
families and individuals, which have been common 



52 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



in the Indian tribes since the introduction of ardent 
spirits amongst them. 

The use of ardent spirits amongst the Indians, I 
and a majority of the attempts which have been 
made to civilize them by the white people, has con- 
stantly made them worse and worse; increased their 
vices, and robbed them of many of their virtues, and 
will ultimately produce their extermination. I have 
seen in a number of instances, the effects of educa- 
tion upon some of our Indians, who were taken 
when young, from their families, and placed at 
school before they had had an opportunity to con- 
tract many Indian habits, and there kept till they 
arrived to manhood; but I have never seen one of 
those but what was an Indian in every respect after 
he returned. Indians must and will be Indians, in 
spite of all the means that can be used to instruct j 
them in the arts and sciences. 

One thing only marred my happiness while 1 
lived with them on the Ohio, and that was the re- 
collection that I once had tender parents, and a 
home that I loved. Aside from that recollection 
which could not have existed had I been taken in 
my infancy, I should have been contented in my 
situation. Notwithstanding all that has been said 
against the Indians, in consequence of their cruel- 
ties to their enemies — cruelties that I have witness- 
ed and had abundant proof of — it is a fact that they 
are naturally kind, tender, and peaceable towards 
their friends, and strictly honest; and that those cru- 
elties have been practiced only upon their enemies, 
according to their idea of justice. 

At the time we left Wiishto, it was impossible for 
me to suppress* a sigh on parting with those 
who had truly been my friends — with those whom I 
had every reason to respect. On account of a part 



BEH=HE-WA~MIS» 



53 



of our family living at Genishau, or Genesee, we 
thought it doubtful whether we should return di- 
rectly from Fort Pitt, or go from thence on a visit 
to see them. 

Our company consisted of my husband, my two 
Indian brothers, my little son, and myself. We em- 
barked in a canoe that was large enough to contain 
ourselves and our effects, and proceeded up the river. 

Nothing remarkable occurred to us on our way, 
till we arrived at the mouth of a creek which She- 
ninjee and my brothers said was the outlet of San- 
dusky lake; where, as they said, two or three Eng- 
lish traders in fur and skins had kept a trading 
house but a short time before, though they were 
then absent. We had passed the trading house but 
a short distance when we met three white men float- 
ing down the river, with the appearance of having 
been recently murdered by the Indians. We sup- 
posed them to be the bodies of the traders, whose 
store we had passed the same day. Sheninjee being 
alarmed for fear of being apprehended as one of the 
murderers if he should go on, resolved to put about 
immediately, and we accordingly returned to where 
the traders had lived, and there landed^^ 

At the trading house we found a j(§fpPcf Shaw- 
nee Indians, who had taken a young white man pri- 
soner, and had just begun to torture him for the sole 
purpose of gratifying their curiosity in exulting at 
his distress. They at first made him stand up, 
while they slowly pared his ears and split them into 
strings; they then made a number of slight inci- 
sions in his face, and Abound him on the ground, 
rolled him in the dirt, and rubbed it in his wounds; 
some of them at the same time whipping him with 
small rods! The poor fellow cried for mercy and 
yelled most piteously. 



54 



D EH-HE-W A-M1S* 



The sight of his distress seemed too much for me 
to endure : I begged of them to desist — I entreated 
them with tears to release him. At length they 
regarded my intercessions, and set him at liberty. 
He was shockingly disfigured, bled profusely, and 
appeared to be in great pain: but as soon as he was 
liberated he made off in haste, which was the last I 
saw of him. 

We soon learned that the same party of Shawnees 
had, but a few hours before, massacred the three 
white traders whom we saw in the river, and had 
plundered their store. We however were not mo- 
lested by them, and after a short stay at that place, 
moved up the creek about forty miles to a Shawnee 
town, which the Indians called Gaw-gush-shaw-ga, 
(which being interpreted signifies a mask or a false 
face.) The creek that we went up was called Can- 
dusky. It was now summer; and having tarried a 
few days at Gawgushshawga, we moved on up the 
creek to a place that was called Yis-kah-wa-na, 
(meaning in English open mouth.) 

As I have before observed, the family to which I 
belonged was part of a tribe of Seneca Indians, who 
lived at tha^ime at a place called Genishau, from 
the name c8»e tribe that was situated on a river of 
the same name, which is now called Genesee. The 
word Genishau signifies a shining, clear, or open 
place. Those of us who lived on the Ohio, had fre- 
quently received invitations from those at Genishau, 
by one of my brothers who usually went and retur- 
ned every season, to come and live with them, and 
my two sisters had been gone almost two years. 

While we were at Yiskahwana, my brother am* 
arrived there from Genishau, and insisted so strenu- 
ously upon our going home with him, that my two 
brothers concluded to go, and to take me with them. 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



55 



By this time the summer was .gone, and the time 
for harvesting corn had arrived. My brothers, for 
fear of the rainy season setting in early, thought it 
best to set out immediately that we might have good 
travelling. Sheninjee consented to have me go with 
my brothers; but concluded to go down the river 
himself with some fur and skins which he had on 
hand, spend the winter hunting with his friends, and 
come to me in the spring following* 

That was accordingly agreed upon, and Sheninjee 
set out for Wiishto; and my three brothers and my- 
self, with my little son on my back, at the same 
time set out for Genishau. We came on to Upper 
Sandusky, to an Indian town which we found deserted 
by its inhabitants, in consequence of their having 
recently murdered some English traders, who re- 
sided amongst them. That town was owned and 
had been occupied by Delaware Indians, who when 
they left it, buried their provisions in the earth, in 
order to prevent their enemies enjoying it, or to have 
a supply for themselves if they should chance to 
return. My brothers understood the customs of the 
Indians when they were obliged to fly from their 
enemies; and suspecting that their corn at least must 
have been hid, made diligent search, and at length 
found a large quantity of it, together with beans, 
sugar and honey, so carefully buried that it was 
completely dry and as good as when they left it. 
As our stock of provision was scanty, we considered 
ourselves extremely fortunate in finding so season- 
able a supply, with so little trouble. Having caught 
two or three horses that we found there, and fur- 
nished ourselves with a good store of food, we 
travelled on till we came to the mouth of French 
Creek, where we hunted two days, and from thence 
came on to Connewango Creek, where we stayed 



56 



DEH-HE-WA-MXS. 



eight or ten days, in consequence of our horses 
having left us and strayed into the woods. The 
horses, however, were found, and we again pre- 
pared to resume our journey. During our stay | 
at that place the rain fell fast, and had raised 
the creek to such a height that it was seemingly 
impossible for us to cross it. A number of times 
we ventured in, but were compelled to return, barely 
escaping with our lives. At length we succeeded in 
swimming our horses and reached the opposite 
shore; though I and my little boy but just escaped 
from being drowned. From Sandusky the path that 
we travelled was crooked and obscure; but was tol- 
erably well understood by my oldest brother, who 
had travelled it a number of times, when going to i 
and retu ung from the Cherokee wars. The fall 
by this time was considerably advanced, and the 
rains, attended with cold winds, continued daily to ! 
increase the difficulties of travelling. From Conne- 
wango we came to a place, called by the Indians j 
Che-ua-shung-gau-tau, on the Allegany river, at the i 
mouth of what is now called Cold-Spring creek, in 
the town of Napoli, Cattaraugus County, State of 
New-York, and from that to U-na-waum-gwa, or 
Tu-ne-un-gwan, (which means an eddy, not strong,) i 
where the early frosts had destroyed the corn so that 
the Indians were in danger of starving for the want 
of bread. Having rested ourselves two days at that 
place, we came on to Caneadea and stayed one day, 
and then continued our march until we arrived at j 
Little Beards Town, in Gen-ish-a-u, at that time a 
large Seneca Town, thickly inhabited. 

Those only who have travelled on foot the distance 
of five or six hundred miles, through an almost 
pathless wilderness can form any idea of the fatigue I 
and sufferings that I endured on that journey. My 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



57 



clothing was thin and illy calculated to defend me 
from the continually drenching rains with which I 
was daily completely wet, and at night with nothing 
but my wet blanket to cover me, I had to sleep on 
the naked ground, and generally without a shelter, 
save such as nature provided. In addition to all 
that, I had to carry my child, then about nine 
months old, every step of the journey on my back, 
or in my arms, and provide for his comfort and pre- 
vent his suffering, as far as my poverty of means 
would admit. Such was the fatigue that I some- 
times felt, that I thought it impossible for me to go 
through, and I would almost abandon the idea of even 
trying to proceed. My brothers were attentive, and 
at length, as I have stated, we reached our place of 
destination, in good health, and without giving ex- 
perienced a day's sickness from the time we left 
Yiskahwana. 

We were kindly received by my Indian mother 
and the other members of the family, who appeared 
to make me welcome; and my two sisters, whom I 
had not seen in two years, received me with every 
expression of love and friendship, and that they re- 
ally felt what they expressed, I have never had the 
least reason to doubt. The warmth of their feel- 
ings, the kind reception which I met with, and the 
continued favors that I received at their hands, riv- 
etted my affection for them so strongly that I am 
constrained to believe that. I loved them as I should 
have loved my own sister had she lived, and I had 
been brought up with her. 



58 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



CHAPTER V. 

Having conducted the principal subject of our 
narrative to Gen-ish-a-u or Little Beards Town, on 
the banks of Genesee River, whereon within the 
space of twelve miles along that stream she has 
since resided seventy-two years of her life — this 
likewise being the ground on which most of the 
scenes we are about to relate,, whether of joy or sor- 
row, pleasure or pain, whether ludicrous or horri- 
ble, were enacted, we will give the reader a brief 
geographical sketch - of the country, and point out 
the localities of the places thereon, and those in the 
surrounding country, most of which have already 
been, or will hereafter be, referred to in this narra- 
tive. 

It will be understood that in describing Indian vil- | 
lages &c, we have relation to their then state, for 
some of them have long since been deserted by the 
Indians, and demolished by the whites; and at this 
time, 1842, all those on the Genesee River have 
ceased to exist, scarce leaving a memorial or trace 
to point out the spot on which they stood. It will 
likewise be observed, that the distances herein given 
are according to the Indian trails or paths usually 
travelled by them in that early day. 

A few remarks on Indian names and the Indian 
language, in this place, may be serviceable to the 
reader who is unacquainted with the significant pro- 
perties of Indian proper names, and the monotonous 
sounds and full aspirations of the language of the 
Iroquois. It has been often observed that a great 
discrepancy exists among writers, not only in the 
spelling, but in the necessary pronunciation of In- 
dian names of the same persons or places. It re- 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



59 



quires but a short explanation to elucidate the cause 
of this difficulty. Among the Six Nations, not only 
each nation converses in a different dialect, but each 
tribe in the same nation have peculiarities in their 
language not common in the other tribes, although 
probably not varying more than the dialects in many 
of the counties in England. 

All Indian names, whether of persons or places, 
are significant of some supposed quality, appear- 
ance, or local situation; and the Indians having no 
written language originally, denominated persons 
and places in conformity to such quality &c, in 
their own dialect. 

The better to be understood, we will mention a 
particular case or two which will give a full expla- 
nation to the position assumed: Red Jacket, the ce- 
lebrated Indian orator, had six or seven different, 
and in some instances, very dissimilar Indian names 
as written or spoken; but they all meant in the dia- 
lect to which they belonged, 4 'Keeper Awake." 
The same remarks will apply to the name of the 
creek which empties into Genesee River near Mount 
Morris, generally called Canniskrauga, which has 
four or five other quite different Indian names, all 
meaning the same in English, to wit, 6 'Among the 
slippery Elms," as the creek bore the name of an 
Indian village through which it passed, the village 
having been named from its local situation. 

These explanations were obtained some years 
since, from the late Capt. Horatio Jones, who was 
one of the best, if not the best Indian linguist in 
the country; and his explanation had an influential 
bearing in an important land trial, as that creek 
had been called by several very different Indian 
names in the old title deeds of large tracts of land 
In order to have a correct idea of the pronuncia- 



60 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



tion of Indian names, they must be divided into as 
many monosyllabieal words as there are syllables, \ 
for so they originally were, and an h added to al- 
most every syllable ending with a vowel. There- 1 
fore, as is the case in the pronunciation of all sen- 
tences composed of words of one syllable only, all 
difference of accent is destroyed, and the Indians use 
very little difference of emphasis. As examples, 
take the original names of Canandaigua and Seneca 
as now spelt and pronounced; in the Seneca lan- 
guage they were Cah-nan-dah-gwah and Seh-neh- 
kah. 

Formerly in using Indian names it was necessary 
to pay some attention to the Indian pronunciation, 
so as to be understood by the aborigines; but as they 
together with their languages are fast fading from 
among us, that necessity no longer exists. There- 
fore it becomes necessary to Anglicise such names I 
and make them conform to the English pronuncia- 
tion in as soft and smooth sounds as possible, to 
which the letters composing the word when written 
should be made to correspond. 

Little Beards Town, where Mary Jemison first 
resided when she came to Genesee river, was the 
most considerable Indian village or town in its vici- 
nity. We have no means at this time of ascertain- ! 
ing or even estimating its extent or population; but 
tradition as well as Mary Jemison, inform us that it 
covered a large territory for a village, and that it 
was thickly populated. 

Its Chief or ruler was Little Beard, a strong- 
minded, ambitious, and cruel man, and an arbitrary 
and despotic ruler. 

This village stood near the north end of the twelve 
miles in length heretofore mentioned, on the Gene- 
see Flats on the west side of the river, between the 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



61 



present villages of Geneseo and Moscow about mid- 
way, although nearest to Moscow and near the site 
of the new village of Cuyler, on the Genesee Valley 
Canal. 

The tract of country around its site has the most 
delightful appearance imaginable, considering there 
are no lofty snow-clad peaks, deafening cataracts, or 
unfathomable dells to stamp it with the appellation 
of romantic. The alluvial flats through which the 
river meanders for four or five miles above and 
many miles below, are from one mile to two miles 
wide, as level as a placid lake, and as fertile to say 
the J^ast as any land in this state. Thousands of 
acres of these flats were cleared of their timber when 
Indian tradition commences their description. These 
flats are encompassed on each side by a rolling 
country, gradually rising as it recedes from the ri- 
ver, but in no place so abrupt as to merit the cog- 
nomen of a hill. This was the terrestrial paradise 
of the Senecas, and to this tract they gave the name 
of Gen-ish-a-u, Chen-ne-se-co, Gen-ne-se-o, or Gen- 
ne-see, as pronounced by the different Indian tribes, 
and being interpreted, all meaning substantially the 
same, to wit, Shining-Clear-Opening, Pleasant-Clear 
Opening, Clear-Valley, or Pleasant- Open- Valley. 
From this favorite spot Genesee river took its name, 
and these flats at that early period, assumed and 
still continue to retain exclusively the name of 
Genesee flats, as a distinction from Gardeau," Can- 
neadea, and other flats which bear local names al- 
though lying on the same riv r er. 

Genesee river rises in Pennsylvania, and after 
entering this state pursues its course with some ra- 
pidity, a little west of north, through a hilly coun- 
try, forming little if any alluvial flats, until it ap- 
proaches Belvidere, (Judge Church's Villa near 



62 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



Angelica,) about twenty miles from Pennsylvania 
line. From thence it continues the same general 
course with less rapidity, winding its way through 
flats of a greater or less width, to a point in Cane- 
adea, about thirty-three miles from Pennsylvania 
line, following the general course of the river, 
where it alters to east of north, which direction 
It pursues until it falls into Lake Ontario. From 
Belvidere to this bow, or rather angle in the river, 
and from the angle to the falls below Portage- 
ville, the flats are enclosed on each side by high, 
lands, although not precipitous or lofty. The river 
continues to run with moderate rapidity through flats 
from this angle to near Portageville, where the 
highlands close in to the river banks. 

At Portageville, about fifteen miles from the angle 
at Caneaclea, begin the great Portage falls in this j 
river. From the upper falls to Mount Morris and 
Squawkie Hill, a distance of sixteen miles, the j 
river runs through a chasm, the sides of which are 
the greater part of the distance, formed by solid and 
almost or quite perpendicular walls of rock, from | 
two to four hundred feet high. In some places j 
however these walls diverge so far from each other, 
as to allow spots of excellent alluvial flats to be for- j 
med on one side of the river or the other, and in 
some places on both. 

Immediately above the upper falls there exists 
all the appearance of a ridge of rock having once 
run across the river, in which case it would have 
raised the water some two hundred feet above its 
present level, and of course formed a lake from one 
to two miles wide, and extending back over the 
Caneadea and other flats, to Belvidere, a dis- i 
tance of twenty-eight or thirty miles; but if ever 
this was the case, the river has centuries ago cut 



I>EH~HE-WA-MIS. 



63 



through this ridge, and formed considerable rapids 
where it stood, above and opposite Portageville. 
The river, after apparently cutting through this 
ridge, precipitates itself into the chasm below by a 
somewhat broken, although what would be termed 
perpendicular fall of sixty-six feet. The stream 
at this place is about twelve rods wide, after which 
it flows through the chasm on a smooth rock bottom. 
Half a mile below the upper falls, the river, 
(where it is about fifteen rods wide,) again precipi- 
, tates itself, in an unbroken sheet, one hundred and 
ten feet perpendicularly into a deeper channel, for- 
ming the "Middle Falls." The magnificence and 
beauty of these falls is not exceeded by any thing 
of the kind in the state, except the cataract of Nia- 
gara. On the west side of the river at the top of 
the falls, is a small flat piece of land, or rather 
rock, on which is a saw mill and several dwelling 
houses, which can be approached down a ravine 
from the west, with any kind of carriage. The 
stream pursues its course in the same direction, pent 
within its rock-bound and precipitous shores, about 
two miles, where it takes its third and last leap in 
this vicinity, of ninety-three feet, into a still deeper 
chasm: the greater body of water falling on the 
eastern side, where a portion of it falls into a kind 
of hanging rock basin, about one third of the dis- 
tance down, and then takes another leap. This fall 
can be approached on the east side by pedestrians 
with perfect safety. 

The river then pursues its northeastern course 
through its deep and narrow channel to Gardeau 
Flats, about five miles from the lower falls. The 
banks of the river, or rather the land bordering on 
the chasm the greater portion of this distance, is 
covered with elegant white and Norway pine. At 



64 



DEH-HE-WA-MI8. 



the upper end of the Gardeau flats is the Great 
Slide, which has been so often noticed as a great 
curiosity. 

In the month of May, 1817, a portion of the land 
on the west side of the river, thickly covered with 
heavy timber, suddenly gave way, and with a tre- 
mendous crash slid into the bed of the river, which 
it so completely rilled that the stream formed a new 
channel on the east side of it, where it continues to 
run. This slide as it now lies contains twenty-two 
acres, and has a considerable share of the timber 
that formerly covered it, still standing erect and 
growing, although it has suffered the shock produ- 
ced by a fall of some two hundred feet below its 
former elevation. 

The Gardeau Flats are from eighty to one hun- 
dred and twenty rods wide, and extend two miles 
and a quarter down the river, lying mostly on the 
west side of it. There are several ravines and de- 
pressions in the high banks on both sides of the ri- 
ver at the upper end of these flats, so that a road 
has been made wiiich admits the passage of carria- 
ges from the highlands on one side of the river to 
the highlands on the other, a bridge having been 
erected across the river; this place above the slide 
is called St. Helena. Some four miles below St. 
Helena is Smoky Hollow, containing from two to 
three hundred acres of alluvial flats, approachable 
from the west only with safety, and in that direction 
through a ravine and down a steep declivity: this 
was within Mrs. Jemison's original reservation. — 
Below this place three or four miles, the river re- 
ceives the outlet of Silver Lake. This lake or 
pond is a beautiful pellucid sheet of water, three 
and a half miles long, and from half to three-fourths 
of a mile in breadth, lying about four miles west of 



DEH-HE-WA-MI8. 



65 



and several hundred feet above the Genesee river, 
thereby creating a vast water power for so small a 
stream. 

Some distance below the entrance of the outlet of 
Silver Lake into the river, is from twenty to twen- 
ty-five acres of alluvial flats in a perfect dell. It 
was purchased many years ago by a man who now 
resides on it, although his land extends over the 
high bank, and includes handsome level land there. 
It is certain that he and his family do go in and out 
of this dell, and that he gets in cattle and other do- 
mestic animals, but it would test the science of an 
engineer to ascertain how he effects it. 

At the distance of eleven miles from St. Helena 
is Mount Morris, on the right or eastern side of the 
river, and Squawkie Hill on the left or western. 
These are not mountains or even hills, within the 
common acceptance of the words: but merely a 
descent of two or three hundred feet, (and that not 
abrupt, nor is its existence in any particular line of 
demarkation, observable) from the upper plateau of 
land through which the depressed channel of Gene- 
see river runs, down to Genesee flats. 

From Mount Morris and Squawkie Hill, where 
the river disgorges itself from the thraldom of its 
rocky and precipitous banks, it moves slowly, taking 
a serpentine course through the Genesee and other 
flats: the high grounds on each side gradually di- 
minishing in height, and the alluvial flats decreas- 
ing in width in proportion, until the stream merely 
flows in its shallow channel through a champaign 
country, before it reaches the great falls at Roches- 
ter, near forty miles from Mount Morris, where, 
after passing the rapids, it falls ninety-six feet per- 
pendicularly into a chasm below, through which it 
flows one and a half miles further, and then passes 
E 



66 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS* 



two more perpendicular falls, within a short (lis- | 
tance of each other, the upper one of twenty-five 
feet, and the lower of eighty-four feet. At the foot , 
of these falls the river becomes navigable for steam- 
boats, and runs sluggishly five miles through a deep 
ravine a portion of the way to its mouth, where it 
disembogues itself into Lake Ontario. 

Bigtree village, which bore the name of one of its 
chiefs, was a small village lying a mile and a half 
north of Little Beards Town. Ten miles still fur- 
ther down the river was situated Cannewagus village I 
a place of some note for a sub-village; this was the j 
residence of the patriarch Hot Bread. 

Tonnewanda Indian village, whose inhabitants 
have always been remarkable for their peaceable 
and quiet disposition, is situated on the Tonnewanda 
creek, about forty miles northwest of Little Beards ; 
Town, on the great Indian trail from east to west 
passing through this country. The "Great Bend" 
of the Tonnewanda creek, between Little Beards 
Town and the Tonnewanda village, where the vil- 
lage of Batavia now stands, was a noted camping 
ground for the Indians while passing to and fro on 
tills trail. Still farther northwest, thirty-two miles | 
from Tonnewanda village is Tuscarora village, inha- 
bited by the most civilized, agricultural, mechani- 
cal, and commercial tribe of the Six Nations. Lew- 
iston is three miles west of Tuscarora village, and 
Fort Niagara is seven miles north of Lewiston, ma- 
king the whole route from Little Beards Town to 
Fort Niagara, following this trail, eighty-two miles. 
From Lewiston seven miles south, was Fort Schlos- 
ser, a mere stockade fort; the "DeviPs Hole" being 
about midway between those two points. Fort ; 
Schlosser was at the northern termination of the 
navigable waters of the Niagara river above the 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



67 



falls; and this seven miles from Lewiston to Schlos- 
ser, was the only place requiring land trasportation 
for men, stores, or merchandize from Quebec to 
Fort Mackinaw, or indeed from the Atlantic Ocean 
to the end of Lake Superior. These forts therefore, 
Niagara and Schlosser, were considered very im- 
portant by the contending parties in olden times, 
the French and the English. 

From Tonnewanda village about twenty-five 
miles southwesterly, lies the first Indian village, on 
the Buffalo creek, along which and its several bran- 
ches there are a number of Indian villages and sin- 
gle wigwams. Up the shore of Lake Erie in a 
southwestern direction, about thirty-five miles from 
Buffalo creek, is the village of Cattaraugus, situated 
on the creek of the same name, two or three miles 
from its mouth, being about one hundred miles from 
Little Beards Town following this circuitous trail, 
which was the one always travelled by the Indians 
unless an experienced runner took a shorter cut at 
his own hazard, in a case of emergency. 

East of Little Beards Town are Conesus, Hem- 
lock, Candice, Honeoye, Canandaigua, and Seneca 
Lakes; five miles west of the foot of the latter stood 
the famous Indian and tory head quarters called 
the 6 'Old Castle." The foot of Canandaigua lake 
is about ten miles west of the Old Castle, and thrity- 
four miles east of Little Beards Town. 

The Indian village of Can-ne-skrau-gah, mean- 
ing 4 'among the slippery elms," was situated about 
fourteen miles southeasterly of Mount Morris on a 
creek of the same name, which empties into Gene- 
see river near the latter place. This village stood 
| on or near the ground now occupied by the village 
of Dansville. East of the junction of Genesee river 
! and Canneskraugah creek, extending some distance 



68 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



up the creek and down the river, was a sparsely- 
settled Indian village or settlement, which appeared 
to be a kind of suburb of Geneshau or Little Beards 
Town. 

Squawkie Hill village, lying about two miles 
south of Little Beards Town, was a great resort for 
the Indians to enjoy their sportive games, gymnas- 
tic feats, and civic festivals. 

Canneadea Indian village or rather villages, were 
situated up the Genesee river on the Canneadea 
flats, beginning at the mouth of Wiscoy, meaning 
"Many Fall/' Creek twenty miles from Mount 
Morris, and extending up the river at intervals eight 
or nine miles, nearly to the great angle in the ri- 
ver. From the southern end of Canneadea Indian 
settlement southwesterly about forty-five miles on 
the Allegany river, is the small [ndian village call- 
ed by Mrs. Jemison U-na-waum-gwa, but now 
known as Tu-ne-un-gwan. Further down the river 
is Kill Buck's town at the mouth of Great Valley 
creek, and Buck Tooth's town at the mouth of Lit- 
tle Valley creek. Below these is Che-na-shung- 
gan-tan or Te-ush-un-ush-un-gau-tau, being at the 
mouth of what is now called Cold Spring creek in 
the town of Napoli, Cattaraugus county, N. Y. 
This village is about eighteen miles below Tu-ne- ' 
un-gwan. Below these are several Indian settle- 
ments along the river, the most considerable of 
which is Cornplanter's settlement, extending seve- 
xal miles along the river, Cornplanter himself be- i 
ing located near the center. 

Of the population of the several Indian villages 
and settlements at the time Mrs. Jemison emigrated 
to this section of country, we can make no estimate; 
and even in latter years, so wandering are the ha- 
bits of the Indians, that a village may be filled to 



DEII-HE-WA-MIS. 



69 



overflowing apparently with residents one month, 
and be almost depopulated the next. Their manner 
of lodging, cooking, and eating greatly facilitates 
their migratory propensities, as one large cabin 
will as well accommodate fifty as five. A deer skin 
for a bed, a large kettle for a boiler, hot ashes or 
embers for an oven, a bark trough for a soup dish 
and platter, a chip for a plate,, a knife, (which each 
carries,) a sharp stick for a fork, and perhaps a 
wooden spoon and tin cup, comprehends a complete 
set of household furniture, cooking and eating uten- 
sils. Even at this day the only time the number of 
individuals who compose a tribe is known or pre- 
tended to be known, is when they are about to re- 
ceive their annuities; and it is then impossible to 
ascertain a "local habitation or a name" for but 
few of the individuals for whom annuities are drawn 
as belonging to such tribe. 

The following statement of the numbers and lo- 
cation of the Indians composing the Six Nations 
in 1823, is a specimen of the precision adopted in 
the transaction of our public business relative to In- 
dian affairs. This account was obtained from Capt. 
Horatio Jones, who was the United States agent for 
paying the annuities to the Six Nations. 

The individuals belonging to the Six Nations in 
the state of New-York, are located on their reser- 
vations from Oneida lake westward to Lake Erie 
and Allegany river, and amount to five thousand. 
Those located in Ohio on the Sandusky river 
amount to six hundred and eighty-eight, to wit, 
three hundred and eighty Cayugas, one hundred 
Senecas, sixty-four Mohawks, sixty-four Oneidas, 
and eighty Onondagas. The bulk of the Mohawks 
together with some of each of the other five nations, 
reside on the Grand river in Upper Canada. 



70 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS* 



CHAPTER VI. 

When we arrived at Genishau, the Indians of 
that tribe were making active preparations for join- 
ing the French, in order to assist them in retaking 
Fort Ne-a-gaw (as Fort Niagara was called in the 
Seneca language) from the British, who had taken 
it from the French in the month preceding. They 
marched off the next day after our arrival, painted 
and accoutred in all the habiliments of Indian war- 
fare, determined on death or victory; and joined the 
army in ' season to assist in accomplishing a plan 
that had been previously concerted for the destruc- 
tion of a part of the British army. The British 
feeling themselves secure in the possession of Fort 
Neagaw, and unwilling that their enemies should 
occupy any of the military posts in that quarter,' 
determined to take Fort Schlosser, lying a few miles 
up the river from Neagaw, which they expected to 
effect with but little loss. Accordingly a detach- 
ment of soldiers, sufficiently numerous as was sup- 
posed, was sent out to*take it, leaving a strong gar- 
_ rison in the fort, and marched off, well prepared to 
effect their object. But on their way they were 
surrounded by the French and Indians who lay in 
ambush to receive them, and were driven back with 
great loss. Our Indians were absent but a few days, 
and returned in triumph, bringing with them two 
white prisoners, and a number of oxen. Those 
were the first neat cattle that were ever brought to 
Genesee flats. 

The next day after their return to Geneshau, was 
set apart as a day of feasting and frolicking, at the 
expense of the lives of their two unfortunate pri- 
soners, on whom they purposed to glut their re- 



I 



DEH-KE-WA-MIS. 



venge, and satisfy their love for retaliation upon 
their enemies. My sister was anxious to attend the 
execution, and to take me with her to witness the 
customs of the warriors, as it was one of the highest 
kind of frolicks ever celebrated in their tribe, and 
I one that was not often attended with so much pomp 
,| and parade as it was expected that would be. I felt 
a kind of anxiety to witness the scene, having never 
I attended an execution, and yet I felt a kind of hor- 
rid dread that made my heart revolt, and inclined 
me to step back rather than support the idea of ad- 
vancing. On the morning of the execution she 
made her intention of going to the frolick and taking 
me with her, know r n to our mother, who in the most 
j feeling terms remonstrated against a step at once so 
rash and unbecoming the true dignity of our sex . 

"How, my daughter, (said she, addressing my 
sister,) how can you even think of attending the 
feast and seeing the unspeakable torments that those 
poor unfortunate prisoners must inevitably suffer 
from the hands of our warriors'? How can you stand 
and see them writhing in the warrior's fire, in all 
the agonies of a slow, a lingering death? How can 
you think of enduring the sound of their groanings 
and prayers to the Great Spirit for sudden deliver- 
ance from their enemies, or from life? And how 
can you think of conducting to that melancholy spot 
your poor sister Deh-he-wa-mis, (meaning myself,) 
who has so lately been a prisoner, who has lost her 
parents and brothers by the hands of the bloody 
warriors, and who has felt all the horrors of the loss 
of her freedom, in lonesome captivity? Oh! how 
can you think of making her bleed at the wounds 
which are now but partially healed? The recollec- 
! tion of her former troubles would deprive us of Deh- 
j he-wa-mis, and she would depart to the fields of the 



72 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



blessed, where righting has ceased, and the corn 
needs no tending — where hunting is easy, the for- 
ests delightful, the summers are pleasant, and the 
winters are mild! — Oh! think once, my daughter, 
how soon you may have a brave brother made pri- 
soner in battle, and sacrificed to feast the ambition 
of the enemies of his kindred, and leave us to mourn 
for the loss of a friend, a son and a brother, whose 
bow brought us venison, and supplied us with blan- 
kets! — Our task is quite easy at home, and our bu- 
siness needs our attention. With war we have no- 
thing to do : our husbands and brothers are proud to 
defend us, and their hearts beat with ardor to meet 
our proud foes. Oh! stay then, my daughter; 
let our warriors alone perform on their victims their 
customs of war!'* 

This speech of our mother had the desired effect; 
we stayed at home and attended to our domestic 
concerns. The prisoners, however, were executed 
by having their heads taken off, their bodies cut in 
pieces and shockingly mangled, and then burnt to 
ashes! — They were burnt on the north side of Fall- 
brook, directly opposite the town which was on the 
south side, some time in the month of November, 
1759. 

Our Indians were also among those who, layed 
in ambush on the Niagara river to intercept a party 
of the British who were guarding a quantity of bag- 
gage from Lewiston to Fort Schlosser. When 
the British party arrived at the. designated point, the 
Indians arose from their ambush and drove the Bri- 
tish off the bank of the river, into a place called the 
Devil's Hole, together with their horses, carriages 
and loading, and every thing belonging to the party. 
Not a man escaped being driven off and of the whole 
number, one only was fortunate enough to escape 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS* 



73 



with life. [See Appendix — Tragedy of the Devil's 
Hole.] 

I spent the winter comfortably, and as agreeably 
as I could have expected, in the absence of my 

j kind husband. Spring at length appeared, but She- 
ninjee was. yet away; summer came on, but my 

j husband had not found me Fearful forebodings 
haunted my imagination; yet I felt confident that 

' his affection for me was so great that if he was alive 
he would follow me and I should again see him. In 

I the course of the summer, however, I received in- 
telligence that soon after he left me at Yiskahwana 
he was taken sick and died at Wiishto. This was 
a heavy and an unexpected blow. I was now in 

j my youthful days left a widow, with one son, and 
was entirely dependent on myself for his and my 
support. My mother and her family gave me all 
the consolation in their power, and in a few months 
my grief wore off and I became contented. 

In a year or two after this, according to my best 
recollection of the time, the King of England offer- 
ed a bounty to those who would bring in the prison- 
ers that had been taken in the war, to some mili- 
tary post where they might be redeemed and set at 
liberty. 

John Van Sice, a Dutchman, who had frequently 
been at our place, and was well acquainted with 
every prisoner at Genishau, resolved to take me to 
Niagara, that I might there receive my liberty and 
he, the offered bounty. I w T as notified of his inten- 
tion; but as I was fully determined not to be re- 
deemed at that time, especially with his assistance, 
I carefully watched his movements in order to avoid 
falling into his hands. It so happened, however, 
I that he saw me alone at work in a cornfield, and 
j thinking probably that he could secure me easily f 



74 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



ran towards me in great haste. I espied him at 
some distance, and well knowing the intent of his 
errand, run from him with all the speed I was mis- 
tress of. and never once stopped till I reached Gar- 
deau. He gave up the chase and returned; but I, 
fearing that he might be lying in wait for me, stayed 
three days and three nights in an old cabin at Gar- 
deau, and then went back, trembling at every step, 
for fear of being apprehended. I got home without 
difficulty: and soon after, the chiefs in council hav- 
ing learned the cause of my elopement, gave orders 
that I should not be taken to any military post with- 
out my consent; and that as it was my choice to 
stay, I should live amongst them quietly and undis- 
turbed. But notwithstanding the will of the chiefs, 
it was but a few days before the old king of our 
tribe told one of my Indian brothers that I should 
be redeemed, and he would take me to Niagara him- 
self. In reply to the old king, my brother said that 
I should not be given up; but, that as it was my 
wish, I should stay with the tribe as long as I was 
pleased to. Upon this a serious quarrel ensued be- 
tween them, in which my brother frankly told him 
that sooner than I should be taken by force, he 
would kill me with his own hands! Highly enra- 
ged at the old king, my brother came to my sister's 
house where I resided, and informed her of all that 
had passed respecting me; and that, if the old king 
should attempt to take me. as he firmly believed he 
would, he would immediately take my life, and ha- 
zard the consequences. He returned to the old 
king. As soon as I came in, my sister told me 
what she had just heard, and what she expected 
without doubt would befal me. Full of pity, and 
anxious for my preservation, she then directed me 
to take my child and go into some high weeds at no 



DEH-IIE-WA-MIS. 



75 



great distance from the house, and there hide my- 
self and lay still till all was silent in the house, for 
my brother, she said, would return at evening and 

I let her know the final conclusion of the matter, of 
which she promised to inform me in the following 
manner: If I was to be killed, she said she would 

ij bake a small cake and lay it at the door, on the 
outside, in a place that she then pointed out to me. 

j When all was silent in the house, I was to creep 
softly to the door, and if the cake could not be found 

i in the place specified, I was to go in: but if the 
cake was there, I was to take my child and go as 
fast as I possibly could to a large spring on the 
south side of Samp's Creek, (a place that I had of- 

i ten seen,) and there wait till I should by some 
means hear from her. 

Alarmed for my own safety, I instantly followed 
her advice, and went into the weeds, where I lay 
in a state of the greatest anxiety, till all was silent 
in the house, when I crept to the door, and there 
found, to my great distress, the little cake! I knew 
my fate was fixed, unless I could keep secreted till 
the storm was over; and accordingly crept back to 
the weeds where my little Thomas lay, took him 
on my back and laid my course for the spring as 
fast as my legs would carry me. Thomas was 
nearly three years old, and very large and heavy. 
I got to the spring early in the morning, almost 
overcome with fatigue, and at the same time fear- 
ing that I might be pursued and taken, I felt my 
life an almost insupportable burthen. I sat down 
with my child at the spring, and he and I made a 
breakfast of the little cake, and water of the spring, 
which I dipped and supped with the only implement 
which I possessed, my hand. On the morning after 
I fled, as was expected, the old king came to our 



76 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS* 



house in search of me, to take me off; but as I 
was not to be found, he gave me up, and went to 
Niagara with the prisoners he had already got into 
his possession. 

As soon as the old king was fairly out of the 
way, my sister told my brother where he could find 
me. He immediately set out for the spring, and 
found me about noon. The first sight of him 
made me tremble with the fear of death; but when 
he came near, so that I could discover his counte- 
nance, tears of joy flowed down my cheeks, and I 
felt a kind of instant relief, such as no one can pos- 
sibly experience unless when under the absolute 
sentence of death he receives an unlimited pardon. 
We were both rejoiced at the failure of the old 
king's project; and after staying at the spring 
through the night, set out together for home early 
in the morning. When we got to a cornfield near 
the town, my brother secreted me till he could go 
and ascertain how my case stood; and finding that 
the old king was absent, and that all was peaceable, 
he returned to me and I went home joyfully. 

Not long after this my mother went to Johnstown, 
on the Mohawk river, with five prisoners, who were 
redeemed by Sir William Johnson and set at liberty. 

When my son Thomas was three or four years 
old, I was married to an Indian whose name was 
Hiokatoo, commonly called Gardeau, by whom I 
had four daughters and two sons. I named my 
children, principally, after my relatives from whom 
I was parted, by calling my girls Jane, Nancy, 
Betsey, and Polly, and the boys John and Jesse. 
Jane died about twenty-nine years ago, in the 
month of August, a little before the great Council 
at Big-Tree, aged about fifteen years. My other 
daughters are yet living, and have families. 



BEH-HE-WA-MIB, 



77 



CHAPTER VII. 

After the conclusion of the French war, our 
tribe had nothing to do till the commencement of 
the American Revolution. For twelve or fifteen 
years the use of the implements of war was not 
known, nor the war-whoop heard, save on days of 
festivity, when the achievements of former times 
were commemorated in a kind of mimic warfare, 
in which the chiefs and warriors displayed their 
prowess, and illustrated their former adroitness, by 
laying the ambuscade, surprizing their enemies, and 
performing many accurate manoeuvres . with the 
tomahawk and scalping knife; thereby preserving 
and handing to their children, the theory of Indian 
warfare. During that period they also pertina- 
ciously observed the religious rites of their proge- 
nitors, by attending with the most scrupulous exact- 
ness and a great degree of enthusiasm to the sacri- 
fices, at particular times, to appease the anger of 
the evil deity, or to excite the commiseration of the 
Great Good Spirit, whom they adored with reve- 
rence, as the author, governor, supporter, and dis- 
poser of every good thing of which they participa- 
ted. 

They also practiced in various athletic games, 
such as running, wrestling, leaping, and playing 
ball, with a view that their bodies might be more 
supple, or rather that they might not become ener- 
vated, and that they might be enabled to make a 
proper selection of Chiefs for the councils of the 
nation and leaders for war. 

While the Indians were thus engaged in their 
round of traditionary performances, with the addi- 
tion of hunting, their women attended to agricul- 



73 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



ture, their families, and a few domestic concerns 
of small consequence, and attended with but little 
labor. 

No people can live more happy than the Indians 
did in times of peace, before the introduction of 
spiritous liquors amongst them. Their lives were 
a continual round of pleasures. Their wants were 
few and easily satisfied; and their cares were only 
for to-day; the bounds of their calculation for fu- 
ture comfort not extending to the incalculable un- 
certainties of to-morrow. If peace ever dwelt with 
men, it was in former times, in the recess from 
war, amongst what are now termed barbarians. 
The moral character of the Indians was (if I may 
be allowed the expression) uncontaminated. Their 
fidelity was perfect, and became proverbial; they 
were strictly honest; they despised deception and 
falsehood; and chastity was held in high veneration, 
and a violation of it was considered sacrilege. They 
were temperate in their desires, moderate in their 
passions, and candid and honorable in the expres- 
sion of their sentiments on every subject of impor- 
tance. 

Thus, at peace amongst themselves and with the 
neighboring whites, though there were none at that 
time very near, our Indians lived quietly and 
peaceably at home, till a little before the breaking 
out of the revolutionary war, when they were sent 
for, together with the Chiefs and members of the 
Six Nations generally, by the people of the States, 
to go to the German Flats, and there hold a general 
council, in order that the people of the states might 
ascertain in good season, who they should esteem 
and treat as enemies, and who as friends, in the 
great war which was then upon the point of break- 
ing out between them and the King of England. 



DEH-HE-WA-MJS. 



79 



Our Indians obeyed the call, and the council was 
holden, at which the pipe of peace was smoked, and 
a treaty made, in which the Six Nations solemnly 
agreed that if a war should eventually break out, 
they would not take up arms on either side; but that 
they would observe a strict neutrality. With that, 
the people of the states were satisfied, as they had 
not asked their assistance, nor did they wish it. The 
Indians returned to their homes well pleased that 
they could live on neutral ground — surrounded, by 
the din of war, without being engaged in it. 

About a year passed off, and we, as usual, were 
enjoying ourselves in the employments of peaceable 
times, when a messenger arrived from the British 
Commissioners, requesting all the Indians of our 
tribe to attend a general council which was soon to 
be held at Oswego. The council convened, and 
being opened, the British Commissioners informed 
the Chiefs that the object of calling a council of the 
Six Nations, was, to engage their assistance in sub- 
duing the rebels, the people of the states, who had 
risen up against the good King, their master, and 
were about to rob him of a great part of his possess- 
ions and wealth, and added that they would amply 
reward them for their services. 

The Chiefs then arose, and informed the Commis- 
sioners of the nature and extent of the treaty which 
they had entered into with the people of the states, 
the year before, and that they should not violate it 
by taking up the hatchet against them. 

The Commissioners continued their entreaties 
without success, till they addressed their avarice, by 
telling our people that the people of the states were 
few in number, and easily subdued; and that on the 
account of their disobedience to the King, they justly 
merited all the punishment that it was possible for 



80 



DEH-HE-WA-M1S- 



white men and Indians to inflict upon them; and ad- 
ded, that the King was rich and powerful, both in 
money and subjects: That his rum was as plenty as 
the water in lake Ontario: that his men were as nu- 
merous as the sands upon the lake shore : — and that ; 
the Indians, if they would assist in the war, and per- 
severe in their friendship to the King, till it was 
closed, should never want for money or goods. Upon 
this the Chiefs concluded a treaty with the Brit- 
ish-Commissioners, in which they agreed to take up 
arms against the rebels, and continue in the service 
of his Majesty till they were subdued, in considera- 
tion of certain conditions which were stipulated in 
the treaty to be performed by the British government 
and its agents. 

As soon as the treaty was finished, the Commis- 
sioners made a present to each Indian of a suit of | 
clothes, a brass kettle, a gun and tomahawk, a seal- | 
ping knife, a quantity of powder and lead, a piece ; 
of gold, and promised a bounty on every scalp that j 
should be brought in. Thus richly clad and equipped, j 
they returned home, after an absence of about two 
weeks, full of the fire of war, and anxious to en- j 
counter their enemies. Many of the kettles which ! 
the Indians received at that time are now in use on 
the Genesee Flats. 

Hired to commit depredations upon the whites, 
who had given them no offence, they w r aited impa- 
tiently to commence their labor, till sometime in the 
spring of 1776, when a convenient opportunity of- 
fered for them to make an attack. At that time, a 
party of our indians were at Cau-te-ga, who shot a 
man that was looking after his horse, for the sole 
purpose, as I was informed by my Indian brother, 
who was present, of commencing hostilities. In May 
following, our Indians were in the first battle with 



BEK-HE-WA-MIS. 



the Americans; but at what place I am unable to 
determine. While they were absent at that time, 
my daughter Nancy was born. 

The same year, at Cherry Valley, our Indians 
took a woman and her three daughters prisoners, 
and brought them on, leaving one at Canandaigua, 
one at Honeoye, one at Cattaraugus, and one (the 
woman) at Little Beards Town, where I resided. 
The woman told me that she and her daughters 
might have escaped, but that they expected the Bri- 
tish army only, and therefore made no effort. Her 
husband and sons got away. After some time, they 
were all taken to Fort Niagara, where they were 
redeemed by Col. Butler, well clothed and sent 
home, except one daughter, who was married to a 
British officer at the fort, by the name of Johnson. 
Johnson was of the party who captured her, at which 
time he very unceremoneously took from her finger 
a gold ring and appropriated it to his own use. 
When he saw her again at Niagara he recognized 
her, restored the ring so impolitely borrowed, cour- 
ted and married her; and although the marriage 
ceremony was celebrated in a wilderness, far from 
the rendezvous of civilized society, and destitute of 
the facilities of obtaining the elegancies, convenien- 
ces, or even the necessaries of life, they were sin- 
gularly provided with a wedding ring. 

In the same expedition Joseph Smith was taken 
prisoner at or near Cherry Valley, brought to Ge- 
nesee, and detained till after the revolutionary war. 
He was then liberated, and the Indians made him a 
present, in company with Horatio Jones, of 6000 
acres of land lying in the present town of Leicester, 
in the county of Livingston. 

Previous to the battle at Fort Stanwix, the Bri- 
tish sent for the Indians to come and see them whip 
F 



82 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



the rebels; and at the same time stated that they did 
not wish to have them fight, but wanted to have 
them just sit down, smoke their pipes, and look on. 
Our Indians went, to a man; but contrary to their 
expectation, instead of smoking and looking on, 
the}- were obliged to fight for their lives, and in the 
end of the battle were completely beaten, with a 
great loss in killed and wounded. Our Indians alone, 
had thirty-six killed, and a great number wounded. 
Our town exhibited a scene of real sorrow and dis- 
tress, when our warriors returned, recounted their 
misfortunes, and stated the real loss they had sus- 
tained in the engagement. The mourning was ex- 
cessive, and was expressed by the most doleful yells, 
shrieks, and howlings, and by inimitable gesticula- 
tions. 

During the revolution my house was the home of 
CoFs Butler and Brandt, whenever they chanced | 
to come into our neighborhood as they passed to and 
from Fort Niagara, which was the seat of their mil- 
itary operations. Many and many a night I have 
pounded samp for them from sun-set till sun-rise, 
and furnished them with the necessary provisions, 
and clean clothing for their journey. 



DEK-HE-WA-MIS e 



83 



CHAPTER YIIL 

For four or five years we sustained no loss in the 
war, except in the few who had been killed in dis- 
tant battles; and our tribe, because of the remote- 
ness of its situation from the enemy, felt secure 
from an attack. At length, in the fall of 1779, in- 
telligence was received that a large and powerful 
army of the rebels, under the command of General 
Sullivan, was making rapid progress towards our 
settlement, burning and destroying the huts and 
corn-fields; killing the cattle, hogs, and horses, and 
cutting down the fruit trees belonging to the Indians 
throughout the country. [See Appendix — General 
Sullivan's Expedition.] 

Our Indians immediately became alarmed, and 
suffered every thing but death, from fear that they 
should be taken by surprise, and totally destroyed at 
a single blow. But in order to prevent so great a 
catastrophe, they sent out a few spies who were to 
keep themselves at a short distance in front of the 
invading army, in order to watch its operations, and 
give information of its advances and success. 

Sullivan arrived at Canandaigua lake, and had 
finished his work of destruction there, and it was 
ascertained that he was about to march to our flats, 
when our Indians resolved to give him battle on the 
way, and prevent, if possible, the distress to which 
they knew we should be subjected if he should suc- 
ceed in reaching our town. Accordingly they sent 
all their women and children into the woods a little 
west of Little Beards Town, in order that we might 
make a good retreat if it should be necessary, and 
then, well armed, set out to face the conquering en- 
emy. The place which they fixed upon for their 



84 



DEH-HE-WA-MI8. 



battle ground, lay between Honeoye Creek and the 
head of Conesus lake. At length a scouting party 
from Sullivan's army arrived at the spot selected, 
when the Indians arose from their ambush with all 
the fierceness and terror that it was possible for them 
to exercise, and directly put the party upon a re- 
treat. Two Oneida Indians were all the prisoners 
that were taken in that skirmish. One of them was 
a pilot of Gen. Sullivan's, and had been very active 
in the war, rendering to the people of the states es- 
sential services. At the commencement of the re- 
volution he had a brother older than himself, who 
resolved to join the British service, and endeavored 
by all the art that he was capable of using, to per- 
suade his brother to accompany him; but his argu- 
ments proved abortive. One went to the British, 
and the other to the American army. At this criti- 
cal juncture they met, one in the capacity of a con- 
queror, the other in that of a prisoner; and as an 
Indian seldom forgets a countenance that he has 
seen, they recognized each other at sight. Envy 
and revenge glared in the features of the conquer- 
ing savage, as he advanced to his brother (the pri- 
soner) in all the haughtiness of Indian pride, heigh- 
tened by a sense of power, and addressed him in the 
following manner: 

"Brother, you have merited death! The hatchet 
or the war-club shall finish your career! When I 
begged of you to follow me in the fortunes of war, 
you was deaf to my cries — you spurned my entrea- 
ties! 

4 'Brother! you have merited death and shall have 
your deserts! When the rebels raised their hatchets 
to fight their good master, you sharpened your knife, 
you brightened your rifle and led on our foes to the 
fields of our fathers! You have merited death and 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



85 



shall die by our hands! When those rebels had dri- 
j ven us from the fields of our fathers to seek out new 
homes, it was you who could dare to step forth as 
J their pilot, and conduct them even to the doors of 
| our wigwams, to butcher our children and to put us 
to death! No crime can be greater! But though 
you have merited death and shall die on this spot, 
my hands shall not be stained in the blood of a bro- 
ther! Who will strike!" 

Little Beard, who was standing by, as soon as 
the speech was ended, struck the prisoner on the 
head with his tomahawk, and dispatched him at 
once! 

Little Beard then informed the other Indian pri- 
soner that as they were at war with the whites only, 
and not with the Indians, they would spare his life, 
and after a while give him his liberty in an honora- 
ble manner. The Oneida warrior however, was 
jealous of Little Beard's fidelity; and suspecting 
that he should soon fall by his hands, watched for a 
favorable opportunity to make his escape; which he 
soon effected. Two Indians were leading him, one 
on each side, when he made a violent effort, threw 
them upon the ground, and run for his life towards 
where the main body of the American army was 
encamped. The Indians pursued him without suc- 
cess; but in their absence they fell in with a small 
detachment of Sullivan's men, with whom they had 
a short but severe skirmish, in which they killed a 
number of the enemy, took Capt. or Lieut. Thomas 
Boyd and one private, prisoners, and brought them 
to Little Beards Town, where they were soon after 
put to death in the most shocking and cruel manner. 
Little Beard in this, as in all other scenes of cruelty 
that happened at his town, was master of ceremo- 
nies and principal actor. Poor Boyd was stripped 



86 



DEH-HE-WA-MI9. 



of his clothing, and then tied to a sapling, where 
the Indians menaced his life by throwing their toma- 
hawks at the tree directly over his head, brandish- 
ing their scalping knives around him in the most 
frightful manner, and accompanying their ceremo- 
nies with terrific shouts of joy. Having punished 
him sufficiently in this way, they made a small 
opening in his abdomen, took out an intestine which 
they tied to the sapling, and then unbound him from 
the tree, and drove him round it till he had drawn 
out the whole of his intestines. He was then be- 
headed, his head was stuck upon a pole, and his 
body left on the ground unburied. Thus ended the 
life of poor Thomas Boyd, who it was said, had 
every appearance of being an active and enterpri- 
sing officer, of the first talents. [See Appendix — 
Removal of the remains of Lieut. Boyd.] The 
other was if I remember distinctly, only beheaded 
and left near Boyd. 

This tragedy being finished, our Indians again 
held a short council on the expediency of giving 
Sullivan battle, if he should continue to advance, 
and finally came to the conclusion that they were 
not strong enough to drive him, nor to prevent his 
taking possession of their fields; but that if it was 
possible, they would escape with their own lives, 
preserve their families, and leave their possessions 
to be overrun by the invading army. 

The women and children were then sent on still 
further towards Buffalo, to a large creek that was 
called by the Indians Catawba, (Stony creek, which 
empties into the Tonnewanda creek at Varysburg, 
Wyoming county,) accompanied by a part of the 
Indians, while the remainder secreted themselves in 
the woods back of Little Beards Town, to watch 
the movements of the army, 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 87 

At that time I had three children who went with 
me on foot, one who rode on horseback, and one 
whom I carried on my back. 

Our corn was good that year; a part of which we 
had gathered and secured for winter. 

In one or two days after the skirmish at Conesus 
lake, Sullivan and his army arrived at Genesee 
river, where they destroyed every article of the food 
kind that they could lay their hands on. A part of 
our corn they burnt, and threw the remainder into 
the river. They burnt our houses, killed what few 
cattle and horses they could find, destroyed our fruit 
trees, and left nothing but the bare soil and timber. 
But the Indians had eloped and were not to be 
found. 

Having crossed and recrossed the river, and fin- 
ished the work of destruction, the army marched off 
to the east. Our Indians saw them move off, but 
suspecting that it was Sullivan's intention to watch 
our return, and then to take us by surprise, resol- 
ved that the main body of our tribe should hunt 
where we then were, till Sullivan had gone so far 
that there would be no danger of his returning to 
molest us. 

This being agreed to," we hunted continually till 
the Indians concluded that there could be no risk in 
our once more taking possession of our lands. Ac- 
cordingly we all returned; but what were our feel- 
ings when we found that there was not a mouthful 
of any kind of sustenance left, not even enough to 
keep a child one day from perishing with hunger. 

The weather by this time had become cold and 
stormy; and as we were destitute of houses and food 
too, 1 immediately resolved to take mj children and 
look out for myself, without delay. With this in- 
tention I took two of my little ones on my back, 



63 



DEH-KE-WA-MIS. 



bade the other three follow, and traveled up the ri- 
ver to Gardeau flats, where I arrived that night. 

At that time, two negroes who had run away 
from their masters sometime before, were the only 
inhabitants of those flats. They lived in a small 
cabin and had planted and raised a large field of 
corn, which they had not yet harvested. As they 
were in want of help to secure their crop, I hired to 
them to husk corn till the whole was harvested. 

I have laughed a thousand times to myself, when 
I have thought of the good old negro who hired me, 
who fearing that I should get taken or injured by the 
Indians, stood by me constantly when I was husking, 
with a loaded gun in his hand, in order to keep off 
the enemy, and thereby lost as much labor of his 
own as he received from me, by paying good wages. 
I however was not displeased with his attention; for 
I knew that I should need all the corn that I could 1 
earn, even if I should husk the whole. I husked 
enough for them, to gain for myself, at every tenth 
string, one hundred strings of ears, which were ■ 
equal to twenty-five bushels of shelled corn. This 
seasonable supply made my family comfortable for 
samp and cakes through the succeeding winter, 
which was the most severe that I have witnessed 
since my remembrance. The snow fell about five 
feet deep, and remained so for a long time, and the 
weather was extremely cold; so much so indeed, 
that almost all the game upon which the Indians de- 
pended for subsistence, perished, and reduced them 
almost to a state of starvation through that and three 
or four succeeding years. When the snow melted 
in the spring, deer were found dead upon the ground 
in vast numbers; and other animals of every de- 
scription perished from the cold also, and were 
found dead in multitudes. Many of our peoplo 



BEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



8£ 



barely escaped with their lives, and some actually 
; died of hunger and freezing. 

Having been completely routed at Little Beards 
Town, deprived of a house, and without the means 
of building one in season; after 1 had finished my 
husking, and having found from the short acquaint- 
ance which I had had with the negroes, that they 
were kind and. friendly, I concluded, at their re- 
quest, to take up my residence with them for a while 
in their cabin, till I should be able to provide a hut 
for myself. I lived more comfortable than I ex- 
pected to, through the winter, and the next season 
made a shelter for myself. 

The negroes continued on these flats two or three 
years after this, and then left them for a place that 
they expected would suit them much better. But 
as that land became my own in a few years, by vir- 
tue of a deed from the Chiefs of the Six Nations, I 
have lived there from that to the present time. 

The next summer after Sullivan's campaign, our 
Indians, highly incensed at the whites for the treat- 
ment they had received, and the sufferings which 
they had consequently endured, determined to ob- 
tain some redress by destroying their frontier settle- 
ments. Cornplanter, otherwise called John O'Bail, 
led the Indians; and an officer by the name of John- 
ston, commanded the British in the expedition. The 
force was large, and so strongly bent upon exem- 
plary retaliation and ample revenge, that appa- 
rently nothing could avert its march, or prevent its 
depredations. After leaving Genesee they marched 
directly to some of the head Waters of the Susque- 
hannah river and Schoharie creek, went down that 
creek to the Mohawk river, thence up that river to 
Fort Stanwix, and from thence came home. In 
their route they burnt a number of places, destroyed 



00 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



all the cattle and other property that fell in their | 
way, killed a number of white people, and brought 
home a few prisoners. 

In that expedition, when they came to Fort Plain 
on the Mohawk river, Cornplanter and a party of 
his Indians took old John O'Bail, a white man, and 
made ham a prisoner. Old John O'Bail, in his 
younger days had frequently passed through the In- 
dian settlements that lay between the Hudson and 
Fort Niagara, and in some of his excursions had be- 
come enamored of a squaw, by whom he had a 
son that was called Cornplanter. 

Cornplanter was a chief of considerable emi- 
nence; and having been informed of his parentage 
and of the place of his father's residence, took the 
old man at this time, in order that he might make 
an introduction leisurely, and become acquainted 
with a man to whom, though a stranger, he was : 
satisfied that he owed his existence. 

After he had taken the old man, his father, he 
led him as a prisoner ten or twelve miles up the ri- 
ver, and then stepped before him, faced about, and 
addressed him in the following terms: — - 

"My name is John O'Bail, commonly called 
Cornplanter. I am your son! you are ray father! 
You are now my prisoner, and subject to the cus- 
toms of Indian warfare; but you shall not be harmed; 
you need not fear. I am a warrior! Many are the 
scalps which I have taken! Many prisoners I have 
tortured to death! I am your son! I am a warrior! 
I was anxious to see you and to greet you in friend- 
ship. I went to your cabin and took you by force! 
But your life shall be spared. Indians love their 
friends and their kindred, and treat them with kind- 
ness. If now you choose to follow the fortune of 
your yellow son, and to live with our people, I will 



DEH-HE-WA-M1S. 



01 



cherish your old age with plenty of venison, and 
you shall live easy; but if it is your choice to return 
to your fields and live with your white children, I 
will send a party of my trusty young men to con- 
duct you back in safety. I respect you, my father; 
you have been friendly to Indians, and they are 
your friends." 

Old John chose to return. Cornplanter, as good 
as his word, ordered an escort to attend him home, 
which was done with the greatest care. 

Amongst the prisoners who were brought to Ge- 
nesee, was William Newkirk, a man by the name 
of Price, and two Negroes. 

Price lived a while with Little Beard, and after- 
wards with Jack Berry, an Indian. When he left 
Jack Berry he went to Niagara, where he now re- 
sides. 

Newkirk was brought to Little Beard's Town, and 
lived with Little Beard and at Fort Niagara about 
one year, and then enlisted under Butler, and went 
with him on an expedition to the Monongahela. 

About this time one Ebenezer Allen ran away 
from Pennsylvania and came to live among us. He 
was much at my house with my son Thomas; he 
was always honorable, kind, and even generous 
to me, but the history of his life is a tissue of 
crimes and baseness of the blackest dye. I have 
often heard him relate his inglorious feats, and con- 
fess crimes, the rehearsal of which made my blood 
curdle, as much accustomed as I was to hear of 
bloody and barbarous deeds. 



DEH-HE-WA-MI8. 



CHAPTER IX. 

Soon after the close of the revolutionary war, ! 
my Indian brother, Kau-jises-tau-ge-au (which be- 
ing interpreted signifies Black Coals,) offered me 
my liberty, and toid me that if it was my choice I 
might go to my friends. 

My son Thomas was anxious that I should go; 
and offered to go with me and assist me on the jour- 
ney, by taking care of the younger children, and 
providing food as we traveled through the wilder- 
ness. But the Chiefs of our tribe, suspecting from 
his appearance, actions, and a few warlike exploits, 
that Thomas would be a great warrior, or a good 
counsellor, refused to let him leave them on any 
account whatever. 

To go myself, and leave him, was more than I 
felt able to do; for he had been kind to me, and \ 
was one on whom I placed great dependence. The 
chiefs refusing to let him go, was one reason for my 
resolving to stay; but another, more powerful if 
possible, was, that I had got a large family of In- i 
dian children that I must take with me; and that if 
I_should be so fortunate as to find my relatives, 
they would despise them, if not myself, and treat 
us as enemies, or at least, with a degree of cold in- 
difference, which I thought I could not endure. 

Accordingly, after I had duly considered the 
matter, I told my brother that it was my choice to 
stay and spend the remainder of my days with my 
Indian friends, and live with my family as I hith- 
erto had done. He appeared well pleased with 
my resolution, and informed me that as that was my 
choice, I should have a piece of land that I could 
call my own, where I could live unmolested, and 



BEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



have something at my decease to leave for the be- 
nefit of my children. 

In a short time he made himself ready to go to 
Upper Canada; but before he left us, he told me 
he would speak to some of the chiefs at Buffalo, to 
attend the great Council, which he expected would 
convene in a few }^ears at farthest, and convey to 
me such a tract of land as I should select. My bro- 
ther left us as he had proposed, and soon after died 
at Grand river. 

Kaujisestaugeau was an excellent man, and ever 
treated me with kindness. Perhaps no one of his 
tribe at any time exceeded him in natural mildness 
of temper, and warmth and tenderness of affection. 
If he had taken my life at the time when the ava- 
rice of the old King inclined him to procure my 
emancipation, it would have been done with a pure 
heart and from good motives. He loved his friends; 
and was generally beloved. During the time that 1 
lived in the family with him, he never offered the 
most trifling abuse; on the contrary, his whole con- 
duct towards me was strictly honorable. I mourned 
his loss as that of a tender brother, and shall recol- 
lect him through life with emotions of friendship 
and gratitude. 

I lived undisturbed, without hearing a word on the 
subject of my land, till the great Council was held 
at Big Tree, in 1797, when Farmer's Brother, 
whose Indian name is Ho-na-ye-wus, sent for me to 
attend the council. When I got there, he told me 
that my brother had spoken to him to see that I had 
a piece of land reserved for my use; and that then 
was the time for me to receive it. He requested 
that I would choose for myself and describe the 
bounds of a piece that would suit me. I accordingly 
told him the place of beginning, and then went round 



94 



deh-he-wa-mis 



a tract that I judged would be sufficient for my pur- ' 
pose, (knowing that it would include the Gardeau 
Flats,) by stating certain bounds with which I was • 
acquainted. 

When the council was opened, and the business \ 
afforded a proper opportunity, Farmer's Brother 
presented my claim, and rehearsed the request of 
my brother. Red Jacket, whose Indian name is 
Sagu-yu-what-hah, which interpreted, is Keeper- 
awake, opposed me and my claim with all his influ- 
ence and eloquence. Farmer's Brother insisted 
upon the necessity, propriety, and expediency of his 
proposition, and got the land granted. The deed 
was made and signed, securing to me the title to all 
the land 1 had described; under the sam restrict 
tions and regulations that other Indian lends are 
subject to. 

This tract is more than six miles long east 
to west, and nearly four and three-fourth mi] - wide 
from north to south, containing seventeen usand 
nine hundred and twenty-seven acres, with the Ge- 
nesee river running centrally through it from south 
to north. It has been known ever since as the 
Gardeau Tract, or the Gardeau Reservation. 

Red Jacket not only opposed my claim at the 
council, but he withheld my money two : r three 
years, on the account of my lands hav: 12; been 
granted without his consent. Jasper Pa: nsh and 
Horatio Jones, who had both been taken j risoners 
by the Indians, adopted and detained wi th them 
many years, the first being the Indian age. for the 
United States, and the other interpreter, interfered 
and at length convinced Red Jacket that it was the 
white peopie. and not the Indians, who had given 
me the land, and compelled him to pay over all the 
money whicii he had retained on my account My 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



95 



id derived its name, Gardeau, from a hill that is 
within its limits, which is called in the Senecx lan- 
guage, Kau-tam. Kautam when interpreted signi- 
fies up and down, or down and up, and is applied to 
a hill that you ascend and descend in passing; 
or to a valley. It has been said that Gardeau was 
the name of my husband Hiokatoo, and that my 
land derived its name from him; that however is 
a mistake, for the old man always considered Gar- 
deau a nickname, and was uniformly offended when 
called by it. 

My flats were extremely fertile, but needed more 
labor than my daughters and myself were able to 
o produce a sufficient quantity of grain 
other necessary productions of the earth, for the 
consumption of our family. The lend had lain un- 
cultivated so long that it was thickly covered with 
weeds of almost every description. In order that 
we might live more easy, Mr. Parrish, wkh the con- 
sent of the chiefs, gave me liberty to lease or let 
my land to white people to till on shares. I accor- 
dingly let out the greater part of my improvements, 
and have continued to do so, which makes my task 
less burthensome, while at the same time I am more 
comfortably supplied with the means of support. 

About three hundred acres of my land, when I 
first saw it, was open fiats, lying on the Genesee 
river, which it is supposed was cleared by a race of 
inhabitants who preceded the first Indian settlements 
in this part of the country. The Indians are confi- 
dent that many parts of this country were settled 
and for a number of years occupied by people of 
whom their fathers never had any tradition, as they 
never had seen them. Whence those people origi- 
nated, and whither they went, I have never heard 
one of our oldest and wisest Indians pretend to guess. 



96 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



When I first came to Genishau, the bank of Fall 
Brook had just slid off and exposed a large number 
of human bones, which the Indians said were buried 
there long before their fathers ever saw the place, 
and that they did not know what kind of people they 
were. It however was and is believed by our peo- 
ple, that they were not Indians. 

The tradition of the Seneca Indians, in regard to 
their origin, is that they broke out of the earth from 
a large mountain at the head of Canandaigua lake, 
and that mountain they still venerate as the place 
of their birth; thence they derive their name, "Ge- 
nun-de-wah, ?? or Great Hill, and are called u The 
Great Hill People, " which is the true definition of 
the word Seneca. 

The great hill at the head of Canandaigua lake, 
from whence they sprung, is called Genundewah, 
and has for a long time past been the place where 
the Indians of that nation have met in council/to hold 
great talks, and to offer up prayers to the Great 
Spirit, on account of its having been their birth 
place; and also in consequence of the destruction 
of a serpent at that place in ancient time, in a most 
miraculous manner, which threatened the destruc- 
tion of the whole of the Senecas, and barely spared 
enough to commence replenishing the earth. 

The Indians say that the fort on the big hill, or 
Genundewah, near the head of Canandaigua lake, 
was surrounded by a monstrous serpent, whose head 
and tail came together at the gate. A long time it 
lay there, confounding the people with its breath. 
At length they attempted to make their escape, some 
with their homminy-blocks, and others with differ- 
ent implements of household furniture; and in mar- 
ching out of the fort walked down the throat of the 
serpent Two orphan children, who had escaped 



DEK-HE-WA-MIS. 



97 



this general destruction by being left some time be- 
fore on the outside of the fort, were informed by an 
oracle, of the means by which they could get rid of 
their formidable enemy — which was, to take a small 
bow and a poisoned arrow, made of a kind of wil- 
low, and with that, shoot the serpent under its scales. 
This they did, and the arrow proved effectual; for 
on its penetrating the skin? the serpent became sick, 
and extending itself rolled down the hill, destroying 
all the timber that was in its way, disgorging itself, 
and breaking wind greatly as it went. At every 
motion, a human head was discharged, and rolled 
down the hill into the lake, where they lie at this 
day in a petrified state, having the hardness and ap- 
pearance of stones; and the pagan Indians of the 
Senecas believe, that all the little snakes were made 
of the blood of the great serpent after it rolled into 
the lake. 

To this day the Indians visit that sacred place to 
mourn the loss of their friends, and to celebrate 
some rites that are peculiar to themselves. To the 
knowledge of white people there has been no tim- 
ber on the great hill, since it was first discovered 
by them, though it lay apparently in a state of na- 
ture for a great number of years, without cultiva- 
tion. Stones in the shape of Indians' heads may 
be seen lying in the lake in great plenty, which 
are said to be the same that were deposited there at 
the death of the serpent. 

The Senecas have a tradition, that previous to, 
and for some time after their origin at Genunde- 
wah, this country, especially about the lakes, was 
thickly inhabited by a race of civil, enterprising, 
and industrious people, who were totally destroyed 
by the great serpent that afterwards surrounded the 
great hill fort, with the assistance of others of the 



95 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



same species; and that they (the Senecas) went into 
possession of the improvements that were left. 

In those days the Indians throughout the whole 
country, as the Senecas say, spoke one language; 
but having become considerably numerous, the be- 
fore mentioned great serpent, by an unknown influ- 
ence, confounded their language, so that they could 
not understand each other; which was the cause of 
their division into nations, as the Mohawks, Oneidas, 
&c. At that time, however, the Senecas retained 
their original language, and continued to occupy 
their mother hill, on which they fortified themselves 
against their enemies, and lived peaceably, until 
having offended the serpent, they were cut off as I , 
have before remarked. 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



99 



CHAPTER X. 

From the time I secured my land, my life passed 
for many years in an unvaried routine of superin- 
tending my family and taking care of my property, 
without the occurrence of any event relative to me 
or my affairs worth noticing, and but few in which 
the nation or our villages felt much interest. 

About the first of June, 1806, Little Beard died, 
and was buried after the manner of burying chiefs. 
In his life time he had been quite arbitrary, and had 
made some enemies whom he hated, probably, and 
was not loved by them. The grave, however, de- 
prives enmity of its malignity, and revenge of its 
keenness. 

Little Beard had been dead but a few days when 
the great eclipse of the sun took place, on the 16th 
of June, which excited in the Indians a great de- 
gree of astonishment; for as they were ignorant of 
astronomy, they were totally unqualified to account 
for so extraordinary a phenomenon. The crisis was 
alarming, and something effectual must be done 
without delay, to remove, if possible, such coldness 
and darkness, which it was expected would increase. 
They accordingly ran together in the three towns 
near the Genesee river, and after a short consulta- 
tion agreed that Little Beard, on the account of 
some old grudge which he yet cherished towards 
them, had placed himself between them and the sun, 
in order that their corn might not grow, and so re- 
duce them to a state of starvation. Having thus 
found the cause, the next thing was to remove it, 
which could only be done by the use of powder and 
ball. Upon this, every gun and rifle was loaded, 
and a firing commenced, that continued without ces- 



100 DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 

sation, till the old fellow left his seat, and the obscu- 
rity was entirely removed, to the great joy of the 
ingenious and fortunate Indians. 

I have frequently heard it asserted by white peo- 
ple, and can truly say from my own experience, 
that the time at which parents take most satisfaction 
and comfort with their families, is when their chil- 
dren are young, incapable of providing for their 
own wants, and are about the fireside, where they 
can be duly observed and instructed. 

In the government of their families among the 
Indians, the parents are very mild, the women su- 
perintending the children. The word of the father 
however, is law, and must be obeyed by the whole 
who are under his authority. 

The Indians are very tenacious of their prece- 
dence and supremacy over their wives, and the I 
wives acknowledge it by their actions, with the 
greatest subserviency. It is a rule inculcated in all 
the Indian tribes, and practiced generation after ge- 
neration, that a squaw shall not walk before her 
husband, or take the lead in his business. For this 
reason we never see a party on the march, in which 
the squaws are not directly in the rear of their part- 
ners. 

Few mothers, perhaps, have had less trouble with 
their children during their minority than myself. In 
general, my children were friendly to each other, 
and it was very seldom that I knew them to have 
the least difference or quarrel: so far indeed were 
they from rendering themselves or me uncomforta- 
ble, that I considered myself happy — more so than 
commonly falls to the lot of parents, especially to 
women. 

My happiness in this respect, however, was not 
without alloy; for my son Thomas, from some cause 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



101 



j unknown to me, from the time he was a small lad, 
J always called his brother John a witch, which was 
the cause as they grew towards manhood, of frequent 
and severe quarrels between them, and gave me 
much trouble and anxiety for their safety. After 
Thomas and John had arrived to the age of man- 
hood, another source of contention arose between 
them, founded on the circumstance of John's having 
two wives. Although polygamy was tolerated in 
our tribe, Thomas considered it a violation of good 
and wholesome rules in society, and tending directly 
to destroy that friendly social intercourse and love, 
which ought to be the happy result of matrimony 
and chastity. Consequently he frequently repri- 
manded John, by telling him that his conduct was 
beneath the dignity, and inconsistent with the prin- 
ciples of good Indians; indecent and unbecoming a 
gentleman; and, as he never could reconcile him- 
self to it, he was frequently, almost constantly, 
when they were together, talking to him on the sub- 
ject. John always resented such reprimand and re- 
proof, with a great degree of passion, though they 
never quarreled, unless Thomas was intoxicated. 

In his fits of drunkenness, Thomas seemed to lose 
all his natural reason, and to conduct like a wild or 
crazy man, without regard to relatives, decency, or 
propriety. At such times he often threatened to take 
my life for having raised a witch (as he called John) 
and has gone so far as to raise his tomahawk to split 
my head. He however never struck me; but on 
John's account he struck Hiokatoo, and thereby 
excited in John a high degree of indignation, which 
was extinguished only by blood. 

For a number of years their difficulties, and conse- 
quent unhappiness, continued and rather increased, 
continually exciting in my breast the most fearful 



102 



DEH^HE-WA MIS. 



apprehensions, and greatest anxiety for their safety. 
With tears in my eyes I advised them to become re- 
conciled to each other, and to be friendly; told them 
the consequences of their continuing to cherish so 
much malignity and malice, that it would end in 
their destruction, the disgrace of their families, and 
bring me down to the grave. No one can conceive 
of the constant trouble that I daily endured on their | 
account— on the account of my two eldest sons, 
whom I loved equally, and with all the feelings and 
affection of a tender mother, stimulated by an anx- 
ious concern for their fate. Parents, mothers es- 
pecially, will love their children, though ever so un- 
kind and disobedient. Their eyes of compassion, 
of real sentimental affection, will be involuntarily 
extended after them, in their greatest excesses of 
iniquity; and those fine filaments of consanguinity, 
which gently entwine themselves around the heart 
where filial love and parental care is equal, will be : 
lengthened, and enlarged to cords seemingly of suffi- 
cient strength to reach and reclaim the wanderer. 
1 know that such exercises are frequently una- 
vailing; but, notwithstanding their ultimate failure, 
it still remains true, and ever will, that the love of 
a parent for a disobedient child, will increase, and 
grow more and more ardent, so long as a hope of 
its reformation is capable of stimulating a disap- 
pointed breast. 

My advice and expostulations with my sons were 
abortive; and year after year their disaffection for 
each other increased. At length, Thomas came to 
my house on the first day of July, 1811, in my ab- 
sence, somewhat intoxicated, where he found John, 
with whom he immediately commenced a quarrel on 
their old subjects of difference. John's anger be- 
came desperate. He caught Thomas by the hair 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



103 



of his head, and dragged him out of the door and 
there killed him, by a blow which he gave him on 
the head with his tomahawk! 

I returned soon after, and found my son lifeless 
at the door, on the spot where he was killed! No 
one can judge of my feelings on seeing this mourn- 
ful spectacle; and what greatly added to my distress 
was the fact, that he had fallen by the murderous 
hand of his brother! 1 felt my situation insupporta- 
ble. Having passed through various scenes of trou- 
ble of the most cruel and trying kind, I had hoped 
to spend my few remaining days in quietude, and to 
die in peace, surrounded by my family. This fatal 
event, however, seemed to be a stream of woe 
poured into my cup of afflictions, filling it even to 
overflowing, and blasting all my prospects. 

As soon as I had recovered a little from the shock 
which I felt at the sight of my departed son, and 
some of the neighbors had come in to help take care 
of the corpse, I hired Shanks, an Indian, to go to 
Buffalo, and carry the sorrowful news of Thomas 5 
death, to our friends at that place, and request the 
chiefs to hold a council, and dispose of John as they 
should think proper. Shanks set out- on his errand 
immediately, and John, fearing that he should be 
apprehended and punished for the crime he had 
committed, at the same time went off towards Can- 
neadea. 

Thomas was decently interred in a style corres- 
ponding with his rank. 

The chiefs soon assembled in council on the trial 
of John, and after having seriously examined the 
matter according to their laws, justified his conduct, 
and acquitted him. They considered Thomas to 
have been the first transgressor, and that for the 
abuses which he had offered, he had merited from 



104 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



John the treatment that he had received. John, on 
learning the decision of the council, returned to his 
family. 

Thomas (except when intoxicated, which was not 
frequent) was a kind and tender child, willing to as- 
sist me in my labor, and to remove every obstacle 
to my comfort. His natural abilities were said to 
be of a superior cast, and he soared above the tri- 
fling subjects of revenge, which are common 
amongst Indians, as being far beneath his attention. 
In his childish and boyish days, his natural turn 
was to practice in the art of war, though he despi- 
sed the cruelties that the warriors inflicted upon 
their subjugated enemies. He was manly in his de- 
portment, courageous'and active; and commanded 
respect. Though he appeared well pleased with 
peace, he was cunning in Indian warfare, and suc- 
ceeded to admiration in the execution of his plans. 

At the age of fourteen or fifteen years, he went 
into the war with manly fortitude, armed with a 
tomahawk and scalping knife; and when he return- 
ed, brought one white man a prisoner, whom he 
had taken with his own hands, on the west branch 
of the Susquehannah river. It so happened, that 
as he was looking out for his enemies, he discovered 
two men boiling sap in the woods. He watched 
them unperceived till dark, when he advanced with 
a noiseless step to the place where they were stan- 
ding, caught one of them before they were appri- 
sed of danger, and conducted him to the camp. He 
was well treated while a prisoner, and redeemed at 
the close of the war. 

At the time Kaujisestaugeau gave me liberty 
to go to my friends, Thomas was anxious to go with 
me; but as I have before observed, the chiefs would 
not suffer him to leave them on the account of his 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



105 



courage and skill in war: expecting that they 
should need his assistance. He was a great coun- 
sellor and a chief when quite young; and in the 
last capacity, went two or three times to Philadel- 
phia to assist in making treaties with the people of 
the States. 

Thomas, at the time of his death, was a few 
moons over fifty-two years old. He was then liv- 
ing with his fourth wife, having lost three; by whom 
he had eight children. As he was naturally good- 
natured, and possessed a friendly disposition, he 
would not have come to so untimely a death, had it 
not been for his intemperance. He fell a victim to 
the use of ardent spirits, a poison that will soon exter- 
minate the Indian tribes in this part of the country, 
and leave their names without root or branch. The 
thought is melancholy, but no arguments, no exam- 
ples, however persuasive or impressive, are suffi- 
cient to deter an Indian for an hour, from taking the 
potent draught, which he knows at the time will de- 
range his faculties, reduce him to a level with the 
brutes, or deprive him of life. 

Jacob Jemison, Thomas' second son by his last 
wife, who is at this time, 1823, twenty-seven or 
twenty-eight years of age, went to Dartmouth col- 
lege in the spring of 1816, for the purpose of re- 
ceiving an education, where it was said he was an 
industrious scholar, and made great proficiency in 
the study of the different branches of education to 
which he attended. Having spent two years in 
that institution, he returned in the winter of 1818, 
and is now at Buffalo, where I have understood he 
contemplates the study of Medicine as a profession. 

In the month of November 1811, my husband Hi- 
okatoo, who had been sick, of consumption, for four 
years, died at the advanced age of one hundred 



106 



DEH-HE-WA-M1S. 



and three years, as nearly as the time could be esti- 
mated. He was the last that remained to me of our I 
family connexion, or rather of my old friends with 
whom I was adopted, except a part of one family, i 
which now resides at Tonnewanda. 1 

Hiokatoo was buried decently, and had all the in- 
signia of a veteran warrior buried with him; con- 
sisting of a war-club, tomahawk and scalping knife, 
a powder-flask, flint, a piece of spunk, a small cake, 
and a cup; and in his best clothing. 

According to the Indian mode of burial, the de- 
ceased is laid out in his best clothing, and put into a 
coffin of boards or bark, and with him is deposited, 
in every instance, a small cup and a cake. Gene- 
rally two or three candles are put into the coffin, 
and in a few instances, at the burial of a great man, 
all his implements of war are buried by the side of 
the body. The coffin is then closed and carried to j 
the grave. On its being let down, the person who 
takes the lead of the solemn transaction, or a chief, j 
addresses the dead in a short speech, in which he 
charges him not to be troubled about himself in his j 
new situation, nor on his journey, and not to trouble j 
his friends, wife, or children, whom he has left; 
tells him that if he meets with strangers on his way, 
he must inform them what tribe he belongs to, who 
his relatives are, the situation in which he left them, 
and that having done this, he must keep on till he 
arrives at the good fields in the country of Nauwa- 
neu. That when he arrives there, he will see all 
his ancestors and personal friends that have gone 
before him; who, together with all the chiefs of ce- 
lebrity, will receive him joyfully, and furnish him 
with every article of perpetual happiness. 

The grave is now filled and left till evening, 
when some of the nearest relatives of the dead, build 



D E H -H E - W A- M I B * 



107 



a fire at the head of it, near which they sit till mor« 
ning. In this way they continue to practice nine 
successive nights, when, believing that their depar- 
ted friend has arrived at the end of his journey, 
they discontinue their attention. During this time 
the relatives of the deceased are not allowed to 
dance. 

Formerly, frolicks were held for the dead, af- 
ter the expiration of nine days, at which all the 
squaws got drunk; and those were the only occa- 
sions on which they were intoxicated: but lately 
those are discontinued, and squaws feel no delicacy 
in getting inebriated. 

Hiokatoo was an old man when I first saw him; 
but he was by no means enervated. During the 
term of nearly fifty years that I lived with him, I 
received, according to Indian customs, all the kind-* 
ness and attention that was my due as his wife. 
Although war was his trade from his youth till old 
age and decrepitude stopt his career, he uniformly 
treated me with tenderness, and never offered an 
insult. 

I have frequently heard him repeat the history of 
his life from his childhood; and when he came to 
that part which related to his actions, his bravery, 
and his valor in war; when he spoke of the ambush, 
the combat, the spoiling of his enemies, and the sa- 
crifice of his victims, his nerves seemed strung with 
youthful ardor, the warmth of the able warrior 
seemed to animate his frame, and to produce the 
heated gestures which he had practiced in middle 
age. He was a man of tender feelings to his friends, 
ready and willing to assist them in distress, yet, as a 
warrior, his cruelties to his enemies perhaps were 
unparalleled, and willjiot admit a word of pallia- 
tion. 



103 



DEH-HE-WA-MI8. 



CHAPTER XI. 

Being now left a widow in my old age, to mourn 
the loss of a husband, who had treated me well, and 
with whom I had raised five children, and having 
suffered the loss of an affectionate son, I fondly fos- 
tered the hope that my melancholy vicissitudes had 
ended, and that the remainder of my time would be 
characterized by nothing unpropitious. My children, 
dutiful and kind, lived near me, and apparently 
nothing obstructed our happiness. 

But a short time, however, elapsed after my hus- 
band's death, before my troubles were renewed with 
redoubled severity. 

John's hands having been once stained in the 
blood of a brother, although acquitted of murder by 
the chiefs, it was not strange that every person of 
his acquaintance should shun him, from a fear of his 
repeating upon them, the same ceremony that he had 
practiced upon Thomas. My son Jesse, went to Mt. 
Morris, a few miles from home, on business, in the 
winter after the death of his father; and it so hap- 
pened that his brother John was there, who requested 
Jesse to come home with him. Jesse, fearing that 
John would commence a quarrel with him on the way, 
declined the invitation, and tarried over night. 

From that time, John conceived himself despised 
by Jesse, and was highly enraged at the treatment 
which he had received from him. Very little was 
said, however, and it all passed off, apparently, till 
sometime in the month of May, 1812; at which time 
Mr. Robert Whaley, who lived in the town of Cas- 
tile, within four miles of me, came to my house 
early on Monday morning, to hire George Chongo, 
my son-in-law, and John and Jesse, to go that day 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



109 



and help him slide a quantity of boards from the top 
of the hill to the river, where he calculated to build 
a raft of them for market. 

They all concluded to go with Mr. Whaley, and 
made ready as soon as possible. But before they 
set out, I charged them not to drink any whiskey; 
for I was confident that if they did, they would surely 
have a quarrel in consequence of it. They went 
and worked till almost night, when a quarrel ensued 
between Chongo and Jesse, in consequence of the 
whiskey which they had drank through the day, which 
terminated in a battle, and Chongo got whipped. 

When Jesse had got through with Chongo, he tola 
Mr. Whaley that he would go home, and directly 
went off. He, however, went but a few rods before 
he stopped and lay down by the side of a log to wait, 
(as was supposed,) for company. John, as soon as 
Jesse was gone, went to Mr. Whaley, with his knife 
in his hand, and bade him jogo; (i. e. be gone,) at 
the same time telling him that Jesse was a bad man. 
Mr. Whaley, seeing that his countenance exhibited 
a demon-like malignity, and that he was determined 
upon something desperate, was alarmed for his own 
safety, and turned towards home, leaving Chongo on 
the ground drunk, near to where Jesse had laid, who 
by this time had got up, and was advancing towards 
John. Mr. Whaley was soon out of hearing of them; 
but some of his workmen staid till it was dark. Jesse 
came up to John, and said to him, you want more 
whiskey, and more fighting, and after a few words 
went at him, to try in the first place to get away his 
knife. In this he did not succeed, and they parted. 
By this time the night had come on, and it was dark. 
Again they clenched and at length in their struggle 
they both fell. John, having his knife in his hand, 
came under, and in that situation gave Jesse a fatal 



110 DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 

stab with his knife, and repeated the blows till Jesse 
cried out, brother, you have killed me, quit his hold 
and settled back upon the ground. Upon hearing 
this, John left him, came to Thomas' widow's 
house, told them that he had been fighting with their 
uncle, whom he had killed, and showed them his 
knife. 

Next morning as soon as it was light, Thomas' 
and John's children came and told me that Jesse 
was dead in the woods, and also informed me how 
he came by his death. John soon followed them 
and informed me himself of all that had taken place 
between him and his brother, and seemed to be 
somewhat sorrowful for his conduct. You can bet- 
ter imagine what my feelings were than I can de- 
scribe them. My darling son, my youngest child, 
him on whom I depended, was dead; and I in my 
old age left destitute of a helping hand! 

As soon as it was consistent for me, I got Mr. Geo. 
Jemison, (of whom I shall have occasion to spea^k,) 
to go with his sleigh to where Jesse was, and bring 
him home, a distance of three or four miles. My 
daughter Polly arrived at the fatal spot first: we got 
there soon after her; though I went the whole dis- 
tance on foot. By this time, Chongo, (who was 
left on the ground drunk the night before,; had be- 
come sober and sensible of the great misfortune 
which had happened to our family. 

I was overcome with grief at the sight of my mur- 
dered son, and so far lost the command of myself as 
to be almost frantic; and those who were present 
were obliged to hold me from going near him. 

On examining the body, it was found that it had 
received eighteen wounds, so deep and large that it 
was believed that either of them would have proved 
mortal. The corpse was carried to my house, and 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



Ill 



kept till the Thursday following, when it was buried 
after the manner of burying white people. 

Jesse was twenty-seven or eight years old when 
he was killed. His temper had been uniformly 
very mild and friendly; and he was inclined to copy 
after the white people, both in his manners and dress. 
Although he was naturally temperate, he occasion- 
ally became intoxicated; but never was quarrelsome 
or mischievous. With the white people he was in- 
timate, and learned from them their habits of indus- 
try, which he was fond of practicing, especially 
when my comfort demanded his labor. As I have 
observed, it is the custom amongst the Indians for 
the women to perform all the labor in and out of 
doors, and I had the whole to do, with the help 
of my daughters, till Jesse arrived to a sufficient 
age to assist us. He was disposed to labor in the 
cornfield, to chop my wood, milk my cows, and at- 
tend to any kind of business that would make my 
task the lighter. On the account of his having been 
my youngest child, and so willing to help me, I am 
sensible that I loved him better than I did either of 
my other children. After he began to understand 
my situation, and the means of rendering it more 
easy, I never wanted for any thing that was in his 
power to bestow; but since his death, as I have had 
all my labor to perform alone, 1 have constantly 
seen hard times. 

Jesse shunned the company of his brothers, and 
the Indians generally, and never attended their 
frolicks; and it was supposed that this, together with 
my partiality for him, were the causes which excited 
in John so great a degree of envy, that nothing short 
of death would satisfy it, 



112 



DEH-KE-WA-MIS. 



CHAPTER XII. 

A year or two before the death of my husband, 
Capt. H. Jones sent me word, that a cousin of mine 
was then living on Genesee flats, by the name of 
George Jemison, and as he was very poor, thought 
it advisable for me to go and see him, and take him 
home to live with me on my land. My Indian 
friends were pleased to hear that one of my rela- 
tives was so near, and also advised me to send for 
him and his family immediately. I accordingly had 
him and his family moved into one of my houses, in 
the month of March, 1810, 

He said that he was my father's brother's son — 
that his father did not leave Europe, till after the 
French war in America, and that when he did come ! 
over, he settled in Pennsylvania, where he died. 
George had no personal knowledge of my father; 
but from information, was confident that the rela- 
tionship which he claimed between himself and me, 
actually existed. Although I had never before 
heard of my father having had but one brother, 
(him who was killed at Fort Necessity,) yet I knew 
that he might have had others, and, as the story of 
George carried with it a probability that it Was true, 
I received him as a kinsman, and treated him with 
every degree of friendship which his situation de- 
manded. I j 

I found that he was destitute of the means of 
subsistence, and in debt to the amount of seventy 
dollars, without the ability to pay one cent. He 
had no cow, and finally, was completely poor. I 
paid his debts to the amount of seventy-two dollars, 
and bought him a cow, for which I paid twenty dol- 
lars; and a sow and pigs, that I paid eight dollars 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS, 



113 



for. I also paid sixteen dollars for pork which I gave 
him, and furnished him with other provisions and 
furniture; so that his family was comfortable. As 
he was destitute of a team, I furnished him with one, 
and also supplied him with tools for farming. In 
addition to all this, I let him have one of Thomas 5 
cows, for two seasons. 

My only object in mentioning his poverty, and 
the articles with which I supplied him, is to show 
how ungrateful a person can be for favors received, 
and how soon they will apparently forget charitable 
deeds, and conspire against the interest of a bene- 
factor. 

Thus furnished with the necessary implements of 
husbandry, a good team, and as much land as he 
could till, he commenced farming on my flats, and 
for some time labored well. At length, however, 
he got an idea, that if he could become the owner of 
a part of my reservation, he could live more easy, 
and certainly be more rich, and accordingly set him- 
self about laying a plan to obtain it, in the easiest 
manner possible. 

I supported Jemison and his family eight years, 
and probably should have continued to have done so 
to this day, had it not been for the occurrence of the 
following circumstance. 

When he had lived with me some six or seven 
years, a friend of mine told me that as Jemison was 
my cousin, and very poor, I ought to give him a 
piece of land that he might have something whereon 
to live that he could call his own. My friend and 
Jemison were then together at my house, prepared 
to complete a bargain. I asked how much land he 
wanted? Jemison said that he should be glad to re- 
ceive his own field (as he called it) containing about 
fourteen acres, and a new one that contained twen- 
H 



1H 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



ty-six. I observed to them that as I was incapable 
of transacting business of that nature, I would wait 
till Mr. Thomas Clute, (a neighbor on whom I de- 
pended,) should return from Albany, before I should 
do any thing about it. To this Jemison replied, that 
if I waited till Mr. Clute returned, he should not get 
the land at all, and appeared very anxious to have 
the business closed without delay. On my part, I 
felt disposed to give him some land, but knowing 
my 'ignorance of writing, feared to do it alone, lest 
they might include as much land as they pleased, 
without my knowledge. 

They then read the deed which my friend had 
prepared before he came from home, describing a 
piece of land by certain bounds that were a speci- 
fied number of chains and links from each other. 
Not understanding the length of a chain or link, I 
described the bounds of a piece of land that I inten- 
ded Jemison should have, which they said was just 
the same that the deed contained and no more. I 
told them that the deed must not include a lot that 
was called the Steele place, and they assured me 
that it did not. Upon this, putting confidence in 
them both, I signed the deed to George Jemison, 
containing, and conveying to him, as I supposed, 
forty acres of land. The deed being completed, they 
charged me never to mention the bargain which I 
had then made, to any person; because if I did, they 
said it would spoil the contract. The whole matter 
was afterwards disclosed; when it was found that 
that deed, instead of containing only forty acres, 
contained four hundred, and that one half of it ac- 
tually belonged to my friend, as it had been given to 
him by Jemison, as a reward for his trouble in pro- 
curing the deed, in the fraudulent manner above 
mentioned. 



DEH-HE-WA-Mia 



11S 



My friend, however, by the advice of some well 
disposed people, awhile afterwards gave up his claim; 
George Jemison, however, held on to his claim; but 
knowing that he had no title to the land, even if I 
had then possessed the power of conveying, (which 
it since appears that 1 did not,) as the deed was 
void, having been obtained by falsehood and fraud, 
he dare not press his claims under it himself, for fear 
of being punished for a misdemeanor; he therefore 
sold his claim for a mere trifle, to a gentleman in 
the south part of Genesee county, who lost that tri- 
fle, whatever it was. But had Jemison been con- 
tent with getting a deed of the forty acres which I 
intended to have given him, and not have underta- 
ken to defraud me out of more, I should have made 
his title good to that land when I did receive the 
power, and the forty acres would have been worth 
to him from forty to fifty dollars per acre. This is 
another proof that in all cases, "honesty is the best 
policy." 

Sometime after the death of my son Thofhas, one 
of his sons went to Jemison to get the cow that I 
had let him have for two years; but Jemison refused 
to let her go, and struck the boy so violent a blow 
as to almost kill him. Jemison then run to Jellis 
Clute, Esq. to procure a warrant to take the boy; 
but Young King, an Indian Chief, went down to 
Squawky Hill to Mr. Clute's, and settled the affair, 
by Jemison's agreeing never to use that club again. 
Having satisfactorily found out the unfriendly dispo- 
sition of my cousin towards me, I got him off my 
premises as soon as possible. 

I am now confident that George Jemison ia not 
my cousin, but that lie claimed relationship only to 
obtain assistance. 



110 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

Trouble seldom comes single. While George Je- 
mison was busily engaged in his pursuit of wealth 
at my expence, another event of a much more seri- 
ous nature occurred, which added greatly to my af- 
flictions, and consequently destroyed at least a part 
of the happiness which I had anticipated was laid 
up in the archives of Providence, to be dispensed on 
my old age. 

My son John was a Doctor, considerably celebra- 
ted amongst the Indians of various tribes, for his 
skill in curing their diseases, by the administration 
of roots and herbs, which he gathered in the forests, 
and other places, where they had been planted by 
the hand of nature. 

In the month of April, or first of May, 1817, he 
was called upon to go to Buffalo, Cattaraugus and 
Allegany, to cure some who were sick. He went, 
and waf absent about two months. When he re- 
turned, he observed the Great Slide of the bank of 
Genesee river, a short distance above my house, 
which had taken place during his absence; and con- 
sidering that circumstance to be ominous of his own 
death, called at his sister Nancy's, told her that he 
should live but a few days, and wept bitterly at the 
near approach of his dissolution. Nancy endeavored 
to persuade him that his trouble was imaginary, and 
that he ought not to be affected by a fancy which 
was visionary. Her arguments were ineffectual, 
and afforded no alleviation to his mental sufferings. 

From his sister's he went to his own house where 
he stayed only two nights, and then went to Squawky 
Hill, to procur money, with which to purchase flour 
for the use of his family. 



DEH-HE-WA-M1S. 



117 



While at Squawky Hill he got into the company 
of two Squawky Hill Indians, whose names were 
Doctor and Jack, with whom he drank freely, and 
in the afternoon had a desperate quarrel, in which 
his opponents; (as it was afterwards understood,) 
agreed to kill him. The quarrel ended, and each 
appeared to be friendly. John bought some spirits, 
of which they all drank, and then set out for home. 
John and an Allegany Indian were on horseback, 
and Doctor and Jack were on foot. It was dark 
when they set out. They had not proceeded far, 
when Doctor and Jack commenced another quarrel 
with John, clenched and dragged him off his horse, 
and then with a stone gave him so severe a blow on 
his head, that some of his brains were discharged 
from the wound. The Allegany Indian, fearing 
that his turn would come next, fled for safety as fast 
as possible. 

John recovered a little from the shock he had re- 
ceived, and endeavored to get to an old hut that 
stood near; but they caught him, and with an axe 
cut his throat, and beat out his brains, so that when 
he was found, the contents of his skull were lying 
on his arms. 

Some squaws who heard the uproar, ran to find 
out the cause of it; but before they had time to offer 
their assistance, the murderers drove them into a 
house, and threatened to take their lives if they did 
not stay there, or if they made any noise. 

Next morning, Mr. Clute sent me word that 
John was dead, and also informed me of the means 
by which his life was taken A number of people 
went from Gardeau to where the body lay, and Doct. 
Levi Brundridge brought it home, where the fune- 
ral was attended after the manner of the white peo- 
ple. Mr. Benjamin Luther, and Mr. William Wiles, 



118 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



preached sermons, and performed the funeral ser- 
vices; and myself and family followed the corpse to 
the grave as mourners. I had now buried my three 
sons, who had been snatched from me by the hands 
of violence, when I least expected it. 

Although John had taken the life of his two bro- 
thers, and caused me unspeakable trouble and grief, 
his death made a solemn impression upon my mind, 
and seemed, in addition to my former misfortunes, 
enough to bring down my grey hairs with sorrow to 
the grave. Yet, on a second thought, I could not 
mourn for him as I had for my other sons, because 
I knew that his death was just, and what he had de- 
served for a long time, from the hand of justice. 

John's vices were so great and so aggravated, that 
I have nothing to say in his favor: yet, as a mother, 
1 pitied him while he lived, and have ever felt a 
great degree of sorrow for him, because of his bad 
conduct. 

From his childhood, he carried something in his 
features, indicative of an evil disposition, that would 
result in the perpetration of enormities of some kind; 
and it was the opinion and saying of Ebenezer Al- 
len, that he would be a bad man, and be guilty of 
some crime deserving of death. There is no doubt 
but what the thoughts of murder rankled in his 
breast, and disturbed his mind even in his sleep; for 
he once dreamed that he had killed Thomas for a 
trifling offence, and thereby forfeited his own life. 
Alarmed at the revelation, and fearing that he might 
in some unguarded moment destroy his brother, he 
went to the Black Chief, to whom he told the dream, 
and expressed his fears that the vision would be ve- 
rified. Having related the dream, together with his 
feelings on the subject, he asked for the best advice 
that his old friend was capable of giving, to prevent 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS, 



119 



so sad an event. The Black Chief, with his usual 
promptitude, told him, that from the nature of the 
dream, he was fearful that something serious would 
take place between him and Thomas; and advised 
him by all means to govern his temper, and avoid 
any quarrel which in future he might see arising, 
especially if Thomas was a party. John, however, 
did not keep the good counsel of the Chief ; for soon 
after, he killed Thomas as I have related. 

John left two wives with whom he had lived at 
the same time, and raised nine children. His wi- 
dows are now living at Canneadea, with their father, 
and keep their children w T ith and near them. His 
children are tolerably white, and have got light 
colored hair. John died about the last day of June, 
1817, aged 54 years. 

Doctor and Jack, having finished their murderous 
design, fled before they could be apprehended, and 
lay six weeks in the woods back of Canisteo. They 
then returned and sent me some wampum by Chon- 
go, (my son-in-law,) and Sun-ge-waw, (that is Big 
Kettle,) expecting that I would pardon them, and 
suffer them to live as they had done with their tribe. 
I however would not accept their wampum, but re- 
quested, that, rather than have them killed , they 
would run away and keep out of danger. 

On their receiving back the wampum, they took 
my advice, and prepared to leave their country and 
people immediately. Their relatives accompanied 
them a short distance on their journey, and when 
about to part, their old uncle, the Tall Chief, ad- 
dressed them in the following pathetic and sentimen- 
tal speech: 

"Friends, hear my voice! When the Great Spi- 
rit made Indians, he made them all good, and gave 
them good corn-fields; good rivers, well stored with 



120 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



fish; good forests, filled with game, and good bows 
and arrows. But very soon, each wanted more than 
his share, and Indians quarreled with Indians, and 
some were killed, and others were wounded. Then 
the Great Spirit made a very good w T ord, and put it 
in every Indian's breast, to tell us when we have 
done good, or when we have done bad; and that 
word has never told a lie. 

"Friends! whenever you have stole, or got drunk, 
or lied, that good word has told you that you were 
bad Indians, and made you afraid of good Indians; 
and made you ashamed and look down. 

"Friends! your crime is greater than all those: 
you have killed an Indian in a time of peace; and 
made the wind hear his groans, and the earth drink 
his blood. You are bad Indians! Yes, you are very 
bad Indians; and what can you do? If you go into 
the woods to live alone, the ghost of John Jemison 
will follow you, crying, blood! blood! and will give 
you no peace! If you go to the land of your nation, 
there that ghost will attend you, and say to your 
relatives, see my murderers! If you plant, it will 
blast your corn; if you hunt, it will scare your 
game; and when you are asleep, its groans, and the 
sight of an avenging tomahawk, will awake you! 
What can you do? Deserving of death, you cannot 
live here; and to fly from your country, to leave all 
your relatives, and to abandon all that you have 
known to be pleasant and dear, must be keener 
than an arrow, more bitter than gall, more terrible 
than death! And how must we feel? Your path will 
be muddy; the woods will be dark; the lightnings 
will glance down the trees by your side, and you 
will start at every sound! peace has left you, and 
you must be wretched. Friends, hear me, and take 
my advice. Return with us to your homes. Offer 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



121 



to the Great Spirit your best wampum, and try to 
be good Indians! And, if those whom you have be- 
reaved shall claim your lives as their only satisfac- 
tion, surrender them cheerfully, and die like good 
J Indians. And—" Here Jack, highly incensed, in- 
j terrupted the old man, and bade him stop speaking 
I or he would take his life. Affrighted at the appear- 
| ance of so much desperation, the company hastened 
I towards home, and left Doctor and Jack to consult 
their own feelings. 

As soon as they were alone, Jack said to Doctor, 
"I had rather die here, than leave my country and 
friends! Put the muzzle of your rifle into my mouth, 
and I will put the muzzle of mine into yours, and at 
a given signal we will discharge them, and rid our- 
selves at once of all the troubles under which we 
now labor, and satisfy the claims which justice holds 
against us." 

Doctor heard the proposition, and after a mo- 
ment's pause, made the following reply: — "I am as 
sensible as you can be of the unhappy situation in 
which we have placed ourselves. We are bad In- 
dians. We have forfeited our lives, and must ex- 
pect in some way to atone for our crime: but, be- 
cause we are bad and miserable, shall we make our- 
selves worse? If we were now innocent, and in a 
calm reflecting moment should kill ourselves, that 
act would make us bad, and deprive us of our share 
of the good hunting in the land where our fathers 
have gone! What would Little Beard say to us on 
our arrival at his cabin? He would say 'Bad Indians! 
, Cowards! You were afraid to wait till we wanted 
your help! Go (jogo) to where snakes will lie in 
your path; where the panthers will starve you by 
devouring the venison; and where you will be na- 
ked and suffer with the cold! Jogo, (go,) none but 



122 



DEH-HE-WA-M1S. 



the brave and good Indians live here! 5 I cannot think 
of performing an act that will add to my wretched- 
ness. It is hard enough for me to suffer here, and 
have good hunting hereafter — worse to lose the 
whole." 

Upon this, Jack withdrew his proposal. They 
went on about two miles, and then turned about and 
came home. Guilty and uneasy, they lurked about 
Squawky Hill near a fortnight, and then went to 
Cattaraugus, and were gone six weeks. When they 
came back, Jack's wife earnestly requested him to 
remove his family to Tonnewanta; but he remon- 
strated against her project, and utterly declined go- 
ing. His wife and family, however, tired of the 
tumult by which they were surrounded, packed up 
their effects in spite of what he could say, and went 
off. 

Jack deliberated a short time upon the proper 
course for himself to pursue, and finally, rather 
than leave his old home, he ate a large quantity of 
muskrat root, and died in ten or twelve hours. His 
family being immediately notified of his death, re- 
turned to attend the burial, and are yet living at 
Squawky Hill. 

Nothing was ever done with Doctor, who contin- 
ued to live quietly at Squawky Hill till sometime 
in the year 1819, when he died of Consumption. 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



123 



CHAPTER XIV. 

In the year 1816, Micah Brooks, of Bloomfield, 
Ontario county, and Jellis Clute, of Leicester, Es- 
^ quires, began to negotiate with me for the purchase 
j of a part of my land, as it lay in an unproductive 
t | state to me. Many obstacles presented themselves 
1 in the transaction of the business. In the first place, 
i it was objected that I was not a citizen of the United 
States, and could not legally convey land, without 
I a special act of the legislature : to surmount this dif- 
! ficulty Messrs. Brooks and Clute procured a special 
act of the legislature of this state to be passed, con- 
fering naturalization on me, and confirming my ti- 
tle to the land as far as that body could effect it. It 
was then discovered that the assent of the chiefs of 
the Seneca Nation must be had to the conveyance, 
and that the proceedings to obtain such assent 
must be in council, under the superintendance of a 
commissioner appointed by the President of the Uni- 
ted States. 

After much delay and vexation in ascertaining 
what was necessary to be done to effect the object 
in a legal manner, and having consulted my chil- 
dren and friends, in the winter of 1822-3, I 
agreed with Messrs. Brooks and Clute, that if they 
would get the Chiefs of our Nation, and a United 
States commissioner of Indian lands, to meet in 
Moscow, Livingston county, N. Y., I would sell to 
them all my right and title to the Gardeau reserva- 
tion, containing 17927 acres, with the exception of 
a tract for my own benefit, two miles long and one 
mile wide, lying on Genesee river where I should 
choose it; and also reserving a lot I had promised to 
give to Thomas Clute, as a recompense for his 



124 DEH-HE-WA MIS. 

faithful guardianship over me and my property for - 
a long time. 

The arrangement was agreed to, and the council 
assembled on the third or fourth day of September 
last, at the place appointed, consisting of Major Car- 
rol, Judge Howel, and N. Gorham, acting for and 
in behalf of the United States Government — Jasper 
Parish, Indian Agent; Horatio Jones, Interpreter, 
and a large number of Seneca chiefs. 

The bargain was assented to unanimously, and a 
deed was executed and delivered by me and upwards 
of twenty chiefs, conveying all my right and title 
to the Gardeau reservation, except the reservations 
before mentioned, to Henry B. Gibson, Micah : 
Brooks, and Jellis Clute, their heirs and assigns for 
ever. 

The tract which I reserved for myself, begins at 
the center of the Great Slide, thence running west i 
one mile, thence north two miles, thence east about : 
a mile to the river, and thence running southerly 
up the river, and bounding on the west bank to the 
place of beginning. 

In consideration of the before mentioned sale to 
Messrs. Gibson, Brooks, and Clute, among other 
things, they bound themselves, their heirs, assigns, 
&c. to pay to me, my heirs or successors, three 
hundred dollars a year for ever. 

When I review my life, the privations that I have 
suffered, the hardships I have endured, the vicissi- 
tudes I have passed, and the complete revolution 
that I have experienced in my manner of living; 
when I consider my reduction from a civilized to a 
savage state, and the various steps by which that 
process has been effected, and that my life has been t 
prolonged, and my health and reason spared, it 
seems a miracle that I am unable to account for, 



DEH-HE-WA-MI3* 



125 



; and is a tragical medley that I hope will never be 
j repeated, The bare loss of liberty is but a mere 
I trifle when compared with the circumstances that 
| necessarily attend, and are inseparably connected 
| with it. It is the recollection of what we once were, 
I of the friends, the home we have left, and the plea- 
! sures that we have lost; the anticipation of misery, 
,j the appearance of wretchedness, the anxiety for 
' freedom, the hope of release, the devising of means 
I of escaping, and the vigilance with which we watch 
| our keepers, that constitute the nauseous dregs of 
I the bitter cup of slavery, I am sensible, however, 
that no one can pass from a state of freedom to that 
of slavery, and in the last situation rest perfectly 
contented; but as every one knows that great exer- 
I tions of the mind tend directly to debilitate the body, 
; it -will appear obvious that we ought, when confined, 
to exert all our faculties to promote our present 
comfort, and let future days provide their own sa- 
crifices. In regard to ourselves, just as we . feel, 
we are. 

For the preservation of my life to the present 
time I am indebted to an excellent constitution, 
with which I have been blessed in as great a degree 
as any other person. After I arrived to years of 
understanding, the care of my own health was one 
of my principal studies; and by avoiding exposures 
to wet and cold, by temperance in eating, abstain- 
ing from the use of spirits, and shunning the exces- 
ses to which I was frequently exposed, I effected 
my object beyond what I expected. I have never 
once been sick till within a year or two, only as I 
have related. 

Spirits and tobacco I have never used, and I have 
never once attended an Indian frolick. When I was 
j taken prisoner, and for some time after that, spirits 



126 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



was unknown among the Indians; and when it was 
first introduced, it was in small quantities, and used 
only by the Indians; so that it was along time before 
the Indian women began even to taste it. 

After the French war, for a number of years, it 
was the practice of the Indians of our tribe to send 1 
to Niagara and get two or three kegs of rum, (in all ; 
six or eight gallons,) and hold a frolick as long as it : 
lasted. When the rum was brought to the town, all T 
the Indians collected, and before a drop was drank, 
gave all their knives, tomahawks, guns, and other 1 
instruments of war, to one Indian, whose business it 
was to bury them in a private place, keep them con- : 
cealed, and remain perfectly sober till the frolick was 
ended. Having thus divested themselves, they com- : 
menced drinking, and continued their frolick till 
every drop was consumed. If any of them became 
quarrelsome, or got to righting, those who were 
sober enough bound them upon the ground, where 
they were obliged to lie till they got sober, and then 
were unbound. When the fumes of the spirits had 
left the company, the sober Indian returned to each 
the instruments with which they had entrusted him, 
and all went home satisfied. A frolick of that kind 
was held but once a year, and that at the time the 
Indians quit their hunting, and came in with their 3 
deer-skins. 

In those frolicks the women never participated. 
Soon after the revolutionary war, however, spirits ' 
became common in our tribe, and have been used 
indiscriminately by both sexes; though there are not 
so frequent instances of intoxication amongst the 
squaws as amongst the Indians. 

To the introduction and use of that baneful article, 
which has made such devastation in our tribes, and 
threatens the extinction of our people, (the Indians,) 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



127 



; I can with the greatest propriety impute the whole 
j of my misfortune in loosing my three sons. But as I 
! have before observed, not even the love of life will 
| restrain an Indian from sipping the poison that he 
| knows will destroy him. The voice of nature, the 
rebukes of reason, the advice of parents, the expos- 
j tulations of friends, and the numerous instances of 
| sudden death, are all insufficient to restrain an Indian 
' who has once experienced the exhilarating and ine- 
I briating effects of spirits, from seeking his grave in 
| the bottom of his bottle! 

j My strength has been great for a woman of my 
I size, otherwise I must long ago have died under the 
burdens which 1 was obliged to carry. I learned to 
carry loads on my back, supported by a strap placed 
I across my forehead, soon after my captivity; and 
; continue to carry in the same way. Upwards of 
; thirty years ago, and with the help of my young 
children, I backed all the boards that were used 
about my house from Allen's mill at the outlet of 
Silver Lake, a distance of five miles. I have planted, 
hoed, and harvested corn every season but one since 
I was taken prisoner. Even this present fall (1823) 
I have husked my corn and backed it into the house. 

The first cow that I ever owned, I bought of a 
squaw sometime after the revolution. It had been 
stolen from the enemy. I had owned it but a few 
days when it fell into a hole, and almost died before 
we could get it out. After this, the squaw wanted 
to be recanted, but as I would not give up the cow, 
I gave her money enough to make, when added to 
the sum which I paid her at first, thirty-five dollars. 
- Cows were plenty on the Ohio, when 1 lived there, 
and of good quality. 

For provisions I have never suffered since I came 
| upon the flats; nor have I ever been indebted to any 



128 



DEH-HE-WA-3IIS. 



other hands than my own for the plenty that I have 
shared. 

I have never been accused of many vices. Some 
of my children had light brown hair, and tolerable 
fair skin, which used to make some people say that 
I stole them, yet as I was ever conscious of my own 
constancy, I never thought that any one really be- 
lieved that I was guilty of adultery. It was believed 
for a long time, by some of our people, that I was a 
great witch, but they were unable to prove my guilt, 
and consequently I escaped the certain doom of those 
who are convicted of that crime, which by the 
Indians is considered as heinous as murder. 

The term in the Seneca language meaning witch, 
applies equally to both sexes. They believe that 
there are many witches, and that next to the author 
of evil, they are the greatest scourge to the people. 
The term denotes a person to whom the evil deity 
has delegated power to inflict diseases, cause death, 
blast corn, bring bad weather, and in short to cause 
almost any calamity to which they are liable. With 
this impression, and believing that it is their actual 
duty to destroy as far as is in their power, every 
source of unhappiness, it has been a custom among 
them from time immemorial, to destroy every one 
that they could convict of so heinous a crime; and 
in fact there is no reprieve from the sentence. 

Executions for witchcraft are not an uncommon oc- 
currence. More or less, charged with being witches 
have been executed in almost every year I have lived 
on the Genesee. Many, on being suspected, made 
their escape: while others, before they were aware 
of being implicated, have been apprehended and 
brought to trial. A number of years ago, an Indian 
chased a squaw, near Little Beard's Town, and 
caught her; but on account of her great strength 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



129 



she got away. The Indian, vexed and disappointed, 
went home, and the next day reported that he saw 
her have fire in her mouth, and that she was a witch. 
Upon this she was apprehended and killed immedi- 
ately. She was Bigtree's cousin. I was present at 
that execution, and also saw another who had been 
convicted of being a witch, killed and thrown into 
the river. Thus from the most trifling causes, thou- 
sands have lost their lives through the superstitious 
fanaticism of the jaagran Indians, for they will not 
"suffer a w T itch to live." 

I have been the mother of eight children; three 
of whom are now living, and I have at this time 
thirty-nine grand children, and fourteen great- 
grand children, all living in the neighborhood of 
Genesee river, and at Buffalo. 

I live in my own house, and on my own land, 
with my youngest daughter, Polly, who is married 
to George Chongo, and has three children. 

My daughter Nancy, who is married to Billy 
Green, lives about eighty rods south of my house, 
and has seven children. 

My other daughter, Betsey, is married to John 
Green, has seven children, and resides eighty rods 
north of my house. 

Thus situated in the midst of my children, I ex- 
pect I shall soon leave the world, and make room 
for the rising generation. I feel the weight of years 
with which 1 am loaded, and am sensible of my daily 
failure in seeing, hearing, and strength; but my 
only anxiety is for my family. If my family will 
live happily, and I can be exempted from trouble 
while I have to stay, I feel as though I could lay 
down in peace, a life that has been checked in al- 
most every hour, with troubles of a deeper dye than 
are commonly experienced by mortals. 
I 



130 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS, 



CHAPTER XV. 

Hiokatoo was born on the banks of the Susque- 
hannah, in the year 1708, in one of the tribes of the 
Senecas, which inhabited that region at the time of 
his birth. He was own cousin to Farmer's Brother, 
a chief who had been justly celebrated for his worth. 
Their mothers were sisters, and it was through the 
influence of Farmer's Brother, that I became Hio- 
katoo's wife. 

In early life, he showed signs of thirst for blood, by 
attending only to the art of war, in the use of the 
tomahawk and scalping knife; and in practicing cru- 
elties upon every thing that chanced to fall into his 
hands, which was susceptible of pain. In that way 
he learned to use his implements of war effectually, 
and at the same time blunted all those finer feelings 
and tender sympathies that are naturally excited, by 
hearing or seeing a fellow being in distress. He 
could inflict the most excruciating tortures upon his 
enemies, and prided himself upon his fortitude, in 
having performed the most barbarous ceremonies 
and tortures, without the least degree of pity or re- 
morse. Thus qualified., when very young, he was 
initiated into scenes of carnage, by being engaged 
in the wars that prevailed amongst the Indian tribes. 

When he was a young man, there lived in the 
same tribe with him an old Indian warrior, who was 
a great counsellor, by the name of Buck-in~je-hil- 
lish. Buckinjehillish having, with great fatigue, 
attended the council when it was deliberating upon 
war, declared that none but the ignorant made war, 
and that the wise men and the warriors had to do 
the fighting. This speech exasperated his country- 
men to such a degree that he was apprehended and 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



131 



tried for being a witch, on the account of his having 
lived to so advanced an age; and because he could 
not show some reason why he had not died before, 
he was sentenced to be tomahawked by a boy on the 
spot, which was accordingly done. 

In 1731, Hiokatoo was appointed a runner, to 
assist in collecting an army to go against the Cataw- 
bas, Cherokees, and other southern Indians. A large 
army was collected, and after a long and fatiguing 
march, met its enemies in what was then called the 
"low, dark, and bloody lands, " near the mouth of 
Red River, in what is now called the state of Ten- 
nessee, at or near the site of the present village of 
Clarksville, in the county of Montgomery. The 
Catawbas and their associates, had, by some means, 
been apprised of their approach, and lay in ambush 
to take them at once, when they should come within 
their reach, and destroy the whole army. The 
northern Indians, with their usual sagacity, discove- 
red the situation of their enemies, rushed upon the 
ambuscade and massacred 1200 on the spot. The 
battle continued for two days and two nights, with 
the utmost severity, in which the northern Indians 
were victorious, and so far succeeded in destroying 
the Catawbas that they at that time ceased to be a 
nation. The victors suffered an immense loss in 
killed; but gained the hunting ground, w r hich was 
their grand object, though the Cherokees would not 
give it up in a treaty, or consent to make peace. 
Bows and arrows, at that time, were generally used 
as the implements of Indian warfare, although a 
few guns had been introduced. 

From that time he was engaged in a number of 
battles in which, as in the Catawba and Cherokee 
wars, Indians only were engaged, and made fight- 
ing his business, till the commencement of the 



132 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



French war. In those battles he took a number of 
Indians prisoners, whom he killed by tying them to 
trees and setting small Indian boys to shooting at 
them with arrows, till death finished the misery of 
the sufferers; a process that frequently took two. 
days for its completion! 

During the French war he was in every battle 
that was fought on the Susquehannah and Ohio 
rivers; and was so fortunate as never to have been 
taken prisoner. 

At Braddock ? s defeat he took two white prisoners, 
and burnt them alive in a fire of his own kindling. 

In 1777, he was in the battle at Fort Freeland, 
in Northumberland county, Pa. The fort contained 
a great number of women and children, and was 
defended only by a small garrison- The force that 
went against it, consisted of 100 British regulars, 
commanded by a Col. McDonald, and 300 Indians 
under Hiokatoo. After a short but bloody engage- 
ment, the fort was surrendered; the women and 
children were sent under an escort to the next fort 
below, and the me n an d boys taken off by a party 
of British, to the general Indian encampment. As 
soon as the fort had capitulated and the firing had 
ceased, Hiokatoo with the help of a few Indians, 
tomahawked every wounded American, while ear- 
nestly begging with uplifted hands for quarters. 

The massacre was but just finished when Capts. 
Dougherty and Boon arrived with a reinforcement 
to assist the garrison. On their arriving in sight of 
the fort, they saw that it had surrendered, and that 
an Indian was holding the flag. This so much in 
flamed Capt. Dougherty that he left his command, 
stept forward, and shot the Indian at the first fire. 
Another took the flag, and had no sooner got it 
erected than Dougherty dropt him as he had the 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



133 



first. A third presumed to hold it, who was also 
shot down by Dougherty. Hiokatoo, exasperated 
at the sight of such bravery, sallied out with a party 
of his Indians, and killed Capts, Dougherty, Boon, 
and fourteen men, at the first fire. The remainder 
of the two companies escaped by taking to flight, 
and soon arrived at the fort which they had left but 
a few hours before. 

In an expedition that went out against Cherry 
Valley and the neighboring settlements ^ Captain 
David, a Mohawk Indian, was first, and Hiokatoo 
the second in command. The force consisted of se- 
veral hundred Indians, who were determined on 
mischief, and the destruction of the whites. A con- 
tinued series of wanton barbarity characterized their 
career, for they plundered and burnt every thing 
that came in their way, and killed a number of per- 
sons, among whom were a number of infants, whom 
Hiokatoo butchered or dashed upon the stones with 
his own hands. Besides the instances which have 
been mentioned, he was in a number of parties du- 
ring the revolutionary war, where he ever acted a 
conspicuous part. 

The Indians having removed the seat of their 
depredations and war to the frontiers of Pennsylva- 
nia, Ohio, Kentucky, and the neighboring territo 
ries, assembled a large force at Upper Sandusky, 
their place of general rendezvous, from whence 
they went out to the various places which they de- 
signed to sacrifice. 

Tired of the desolating scenes that were so often 
witnessed, and feeling a confidence that the savages 
might bo subdued, and an end put to their crimes, 
the American government raised a regiment, con- 
sisting of 300 volunteers, for the purpose of dislod- 
ging them from their cantonment and preventing 



134 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



further barbarities. Col. William Crawford, and 
Lieut. Col David Williamson, men who had been 
thoroughly tried and approved, were commissioned 
by Gen. Washington to take the cammand of a ser- 
vice that seemed all-important to the welfare of the 
country. In the month of July, 1782, well armed, 
and provided with a sufficient quantity of provisions, 
this regiment made an expeditious march through 
the wilderness to Upper Sandusky, where, as had 
been anticipated, they found the Indians assembled 
in full force at their encampment, prepared to re- 
ceive an attack. 

As Col. Crawford and his brave men advanced, 
and when they had got within a short distance of 
the town, they were met by a white man, with a flag 
of truce from the Indians, who proposed to Colonel 
Crawford that if he would surrender himself and 
his men to the Indians, their lives should be spared; 
but,, that if they persisted in their undertaking, and 
attacked the town, they should all be massacred to 
a man. 

Crawford, while hearing the proposition, atten- 
tively surveyed its bearer, and recognized in his 
features one of his former schoolmates and compan- 
ions, with whom he was perfectly acquainted, by 
the name of Simon Gurty. Gurty, but a short time 
before this, had been a soldier in the American ar- 
my, in the same regiment with Crawford; but on 
the account of his not having received the promo- 
tion that he expected, he became disaffected — swore 
an eternal war with his count^men, fled to the In- 
dians, and joined them, as a leader well qualified to 
conduct them to where they could satiate their thirst 
for blood, upon the innocent, unoffending, and de- 
fenceless settlers. Crawford sternly inquired of the 
traitor if his name was not Simon Gurty; and being 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



135 



answered in the affirmative, he informed him that 
he despised the offer which he had made; and that 
he should not surrender his army unless he should 
be compelled to do so, by a superior force. 

Gurty returned, and Crawford immediately com 
menced an engagement that lasted till night, with- 
out the appearance of victory on either side, when 
the firing ceased, and the combatants on both sides, 
retired to take refreshment, and to rest through the 
night. Crawford encamped in the woods near half 
a mile from the town, where, after the sentinels 
were placed, and each had taken his ration, they 
slept on their arms, that they might be instantly 
ready in case they should be attacked. The still- 
ness of death hovered over the little army, and sleep 
relieved the whole, except the wakeful sentinels 
who vigilantly attended to their duty. But what was 
their surprise, when they found, late in the night, 
that they were surrounded by the Indians on every 
side, except a narrow space between them and the 
town! Every man was under arms, and the officers 
instantly consulted each other on the best method 
of escaping; for they saw that to fight would be 
useless, and that to surrender would be death. 

Crawford proposed to retreat through the ranks 
of the enemy in an opposite direction from the town, 
as being the most sure course to take. Lieut. Col. 
Williamson advised to march directly through the 
town, where there appeared to be no Indians, as the 
fires were yet burning. 

There was no time or place for debates: Col. 
Crawford, with sixty followers, retreated on the 
route that he had proposed, by attempting to rush 
through the enemy; but they had no sooner got 
amongst the Indians than every man was killed or 
taken prisoner! Amongst the prisoners were Col. 



136 



BEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



Crawford, and Doct. Knight, surgeon of the regi- 
ment. Lt. Col. Williamson, with the remainder of 
the regiment, together with the wounded, set out at 
the same time that Crawford did, went through the 
town without losing a man, and by the help of good 
guides, arrived at their homes in safety. 

The next day after the engagement, the Indians 
disposed of all their prisoners to the different tribes, 
except Col. Crawford and Dr. Knight; but those 
unfortuate men were reserved for a more cruel des- 
tiny. A council was immediately held on Sandusky 
plains, consisting of all the chiefs and warriors, 
ranged in their customary order, in a circular form; 
and Crawford and Knight were brought forward and 
seated in the center of the circle. 

The council being opened, the chiefs began to ex- 
amine Crawford on various subjects relative to the 
war. At length they enquired who conducted the 
military operations of the American army on the 
Ohio and Susquehannah rivers, during the year be- 
fore; and who had led that army against them with 
so much skill, and such uniform success? Crawford 
very honestly, and without suspecting any harm 
from his reply, promptly answered that he was the 
man who had led his countrymen to victory, who 
had driven the enemy from the settlements, and by 
that means had procured a great degree of happiness 
to many of his fellew citizens. Upon hearing this, 
a chief, who had lost a son the year before, in a 
battle where Col. Crawford commanded, left his sta- 
tion in the council, stepped to Crawford, blacked his 
face, and at the same time told him that the next 
day he should be burnt. 

The council was immediately dissolved on its 
hearing the sentence from the chief, and the prison- 
ers were taken off the ground, and kept in custody 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



137 



through the night. Crawford now viewed his fate 
as sealed; and despairing of ever returning to his 
home or his country, only dreaded the tediousness 
of death, as commonly inflicted by the savages, and 
earnestly hoped that he might be despatched at a 
single blow. 

Early the next morning the Indians assembled at 
the place of execution, and Crawford was led to the 
post — the goal of savage torture, to which he was 
fastened. The post was a stick of timber placed 
firmly in the ground, having an arm framed in at 
the top, and extending some six or eight, feet from 
it, like the arm of a sign post. A pile of wood, 
containing about two cords, lay about two feet from 
the place where he stood, which he was informed 
was to be kindled into a fire that would burn him 
alive, as many had been burnt on the same spot, 
who had been much less deserving than himself. 

Gurty stood and composedly looked on the prepa- 
rations that were making for the funeral of one of 
his former playmates; a hero by whose side he had 
fought; of a man whose valor had won laurels 
which, if he could have returned, would have been 
strewed upon his grave, by his grateful country- 
men. Dreading the agony that he saw he was about 
to feel, Crawford used every argument which his 
perilous situation could suggest, to prevail upon 
Gurty to ransom him at any price, and deliver him, 
(as it was in his power,) from the savages, and their 
torments. Gurty heard his prayers and expostula- 
tions, and saw his tears with indifference; and finally 
told the forsaken victim that he would not procure 
him a moment's respite, nor afford him the most tri- 
fling assistance. 

The Col. was then bound, stripped naked, and 
tied by his wrists to the arm which extended hori* 



138 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



zontally from the post, in such a manner that his 
arms were extended over his head, with his feet 
just standing upon the ground. This being done, 
the savages placed the wood in a circle around him, 
at the distance of a few feet, in order that his misery | 
might be protracted to the greatest length, and then 
kindled it in a number of places at the same time. 
The flames arose and the scorching heat became al- 
most insupportable. Again he prayed to Gurty in 
all the anguish of his torment, to rescue him from 
the fire, or shoot him dead upon the spot. A demo- 
niac smile suffused the countenance of Gurty, while 
he calmly replied to the dying suppliant, that he 
had no pity for his suffering; but that he was then 
satisfying that spirit of revenge, which for a long 
time he had hoped to have an opportunity to wreak I 
upon him. Nature being almost exhausted from the 
intensity of the heat, he settled down a little, when 
a squaw threw coals of fire and embers upon him, 
which made him groan most piteously, while the 
whole camp rung with exultation. During the ex- 
ecution they manifested all the ecstasy of a complete 
triumph. Poor Crawford soon died and was entirely 
consumed. 

Thus ended the life of a patriot and hero, who 
had been an intimate with Gen. Washington, and | 
who shared in an eminent degree, the confidence of 
that great, good man, to whom, in the time of revo- 
lutionary perils, the sons of legitimate freedom 
looked with a degree of faith in his mental resour- 
ces, unequalled in the history of the world. 

That tragedy being ended, Dr. Knight was infor- 
med that on the next day he should be burnt in the 
same manner that his comrade Crawford had been, at 
Lower Sandusky. Hiokatoo, who had been a lead- 
ing chief in the battle with, and in the execution of 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



139 



Crawford, painted Dr. Knight's face black, and then 
bound him and gave him up to two able bodied In- 
dians to conduct to the place of execution. 

They set off with him immediately, and travelled 
till towards evening, when they halted to encamp 
till morning. The afternoon had been very rainy, 
and the storm still continued, which rendered it very 
difficult for the Indians to kindle a fire. Knight, ob- 
serving the difficulty under which they labored, 
made them to understand by signs, that if they would 
unbind him, he would assist them. They accor- 
dingly unloosed him, and he soon succeeded in ma- 
king a fire by the application of some dry stuff 
which, at considerable trouble, and displaying much 
ingenuity, he procured. While the Indians were 
warming themselves, the Doct. continued to gather 
wood to last through the night, and in doing this, 
he found a club which he placed in a situation from 
whence he could take it conveniently, whenever an 
opportunity should present itself, in which he could 
use it effectually. The Indians continued warming, 
till at length the Doct. saw that they had placed 
themselves in a favorable position for the execution 
of his design, when, stimulated by the love of life, 
he cautiously took his club, and at two blows, 
knocked them both down. Determined to finish the 
work of death which he had so well begun, he drew 
one of their scalping knives, with which he beheaded 
and scalped them both! He then took a rifle, toma- 
hawk, and some ammunition, and directed his 
course for home, where he arrived without having 
experienced any difficulty on his journey. 

The next morning, the Indians took the track of 
their victim and his attendants, to go to Lower San- 
dusky, and there execute the sentence which they 
had pronounced upon him* But what was their 



140 



DEH-HE-WA-M1S. 



surprise and disappointment, when they arrived at 
the place of encampment, where they found their 
trusty friends scalped and decapitated, and that their 
prisoner had made his escape? Chagrined beyond 
measure, they immediately separated, and went in 
every direction in pursuit of their prey; but after 
having spent a number of days unsuccessfully, they 
gave up the chase and retired to their encampment. 

In the time of the French war, in an engagement 
which took place on the Ohio river, Hiokatoo took 
a British Colonel, by the name of Simon Canton, 
whom he carried to the Indian encampment. A 
council was held, and the Colonel was sentenced to 
suffer death, by being tied on a wild colt, with his 
face towards its tail, and then having the colt turned 
loose to run where it pleased. He was accordingly 
tied on, and the colt let loose, agreeable to the sen- 
tence. The colt run two days and then returned 
with its rider yet alive. The Indians, thinking that 
he would never die in that way, took him off', and 
made him run the gauntlet three times; but in the 
last race a squaw knocked him down, and he was 
supposed to have been dead. He, however, recov- 
ered, and was sold for fifty dollars to a Frenchman, 
who sent him as a prisoner to Detroit. On the re- 
turn of the Frenchman to Detroit, the Col. besought 
him either to ransom him, or set him at liberty 
with so much warmth, and promised with so much 
solemnity to reward him as one of the best of ben- 
efactors, if he would let him go, that the Frenchman 
took his word, and sent him home to his family. — 
The Colonel remembered his promise, and in a short 
time sent his deliverer one hundred and fifty dollars, 
as a reward for his generosity. 

Since the commencement of the revolutionary 
war, Hiokatoo has been in seventeen campaigns, 



DEH-HE-W A-MIS. 



141 



four of which were in the Cherokee war. He was 
so great an enemy to the Cherokees, and so fully 
determined upon their subjugation, that on his march 
to their country, he raised his own army for those 
four campaigns, and commanded it; and also super- 
intended its subsistence. In one of those campaigns, 
which continued two whole years without intermis- 
sion, he attacked his enemies on the Mobile, drove 
them to the country of the Creek Nation, where he 
continued to harrass them, till being tired of war, 
he returned to his family. He brought home a great 
number of scalps, which he had taken from the en- 
emy, and ever seemed to possess an unconquerable 
determination that the Cherokees should be utterly 
destroyed. Towards the close of his last fighting in 
that country, he took two squaws, whom he sold on 
his way home for money to defray the expense of 
his journey. 

Hiokatoo was about six feet four or five inches 
high, large boned, and rather inclined to leanness. 
He was very stout and active, for a man of his size; 
it was said by himself and others, that he had never 
found an Indian who could keep up with him on a 
race, or throw him at wrestling. His eye was 
quick and penetrating; and his voice was of that 
thrilling and powerful kind, which, amongst Indians, 
always commands attention. His health was uni- 
formly good. He was never confined by sickness, 
till he was attacked with the consumption, four 
years before his death; and, although he had, from 
his earliest days, been inured to almost constant fa- 
tigue, and exposed to the inclemency of the weather, 
in the open air, he seemed to lose the vigor of the 
prime of life only by the natural decay occasioned 
by old age. 



142 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

Sometime near the close of the revolutionary war, 
a white man by the name of Ebenezer Allen, left 
his people in the state of Pennsylvania on account 
of some disaffection towards his countrymen, and 
came to the Genesee river, to reside with the Indians. 
He tarried at Genishua a few days, and came up to 
Gardeau, where I then resided. He was, apparent- 
ly, without any business that would support him; but 
he soon became acquainted with my son Thomas, 
with whom he hunted for a long time, and made his 
home with him at my house. Winter came on, and 
he continued his stay. 

When Allen came to my house, I had a white 
man living on my land, who had a Nanticoke squaw 
for his wife, with whom he had lived very peacea- 
bly; for he was a moderate man commonly, and 
she was a kind, gentle, cunning creature. It so 
happened that he had no hay for his cattle; so that 
in the winter he was obliged to drive them every 
day, perhaps a mile from his house, to let them feed 
on the rushes, which in those days were so numerous 
as to nearly cover the ground. 

Allen having frequently seen the squaw in the 
fall, took the opportunity when ' her husband was 
absent with his cows, daily to make her a visit; and 
in return for his kindnesses she made and gave him 
a red cap, finished and decorated in the highest 
Indian style. 

The husband had for some considerable length of 
time felt a degree of jealousy that Allen was tres- 
passing upon his rights, with the consent of his squaw; 
but when he saw Allen dressed in so fine an Indian 
cap, and found that his dear Nanticoke had presented 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



143 



it to him, his doubts all left him, and he became so 
violently enraged that he caught her by the hair of 
her head, dragged her on the ground to my house, 
a distance of forty rods, and threw her in at the door. 
Hiokatoo, my husband, exasperated at the sight of 
so much inhumanity, hastily took down his old tom- 
ahawk, which for a while had lain idle, shook it over 
the cuckold's head, and bade him jogo (i. e. go off.) 
The enraged husband, well knowing that he should 
feel a blow if he waited to hear the order repeated, 
instantly retreated, and went down the river to his 
cattle. We protected the poor Nanticoke woman, 
and gave her victuals; and Allen sympathized with 
her in her misfortunes till spring, when her husband 
came to her, acknowledged his former errors, and 
that he had abused her without a cause, promised a 
reformation, and she received him with every mark 
of a renewal of her affection. They went home 
lovingly, and soon after removed to Niagara. 

The same spring, Allen commenced working my 
flats, and continued to labor there till after the peace 
in 1783. He then went to Philadelphia on some 
business that detained him but a few days, and re- 
turned with a horse and some dry goods, which he 
carried to a place that is now called Mount Morris, 
where he built or bought a small house. 

The British and Indians on the Niagara frontier, 
dissatisfied with the treaty of peace, were determined 
at all hazards, to continue their depredations upon 
the white settlements which lay between them and 
Albany. They actually made ready, and were about 
setting out on an expedition to that effect, when 
Allen (who by this time understood their customs of 
war) took a belt of wampum, which he had fraudu- 
lently procured, and carried it as a token of peace 
from the Indians to the commander of the nearest 



144 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



American military post. The Indians were soon 
answered by the American officer, that the wampum 
was cordially accepted; and, that a continuance of 
peace was ardently wished for. The Indians, at 
this, were chagrined and disappointed beyond meas- 
ure; but as they held the wampum to be a sacred 
thing, they dared not go against the import of its 
meaning, and immediately buried the hatchet as it 
respected the people of the United States; and smo- 
ked the pipe of peace. They, however, resolved to 
punish Allen for his officiousness in meddling with 
their national affairs, by presenting the sacred wam- 
pum without their knowledge, and went about devi- 
sing means for his detection. A party was accord- 
ingly despatched from Fort Niagara to apprehend 
him; with orders to conduct him to that post for 
trial, or for safe keeping, till such time as his fate 
should be determined upon in a legal manner. 

The party came on; but before it arrived at Gar- 
deau, Allen got news of its approach, and fled for 
safety, leaving the horse and goods that he had 
brought from Philadelphia, an easy prey to his ene- 
mies. He had not been long absent when they ar 
rived at Gardeau, where they made diligent search 
for him till they were satisfied that they could not 
find him, and then seized the effects which he had 
left, and returned to Niagara. My son Thomas 
went with them, with Allen's horse, and carried the 
goods. 

Allen, on finding that his enemies had gone, 
came back to my house, where he lived as before; 
but of his return they were soon notified at Niagara, 
and Nettles (who married Priscilla Ramsay) with a 
small party of Indians, came on to take him. He, 
however, by some means found that they were near, 
and gave me his box of money and trinkets to keep 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 145 

I 

safely, till he called for it, and again took to the 
i woods. Nettles came on, determined at all events to 
take him before he went back; and, in order to ac- 
' complish his design, he, with his Indians, hunted in 
| the day time and lay by at night at my house, and 
I in that way they practiced for a number of days. Al- 
| len watched the motion of his pursuers, and every 
j night after they had gone to rest, came home and 
got some food, and then returned to his retreat. It 
was in the fall, and the weather was cold and rainy, 
so that he suffered extremely. Some nights he sat 
in my chamber till nearly day-break, while his ene- 
mies were below, and when the time arrived, I as- 
sisted him to escape unnoticed. 

Nettles at length abandoned the chase — went 
home, and Allen, all in tatters, came in. By run- 
ning in the woods his clothing had become torn into 
rags, so that he was in a suffering condition, almost 
naked. Hiokatoo gave him a blanket, and a piece 
of broadcloth for a pair of trousers. Allen made 
his trousers himself, and then built a raft, on which 
he went down the river to his own place at Mount 
Morris. 

About that time he married a squaw, whose name 
was Sally. 

The Niagara people finding that he was at his 
own house, came and took him by surprise, and car- 
ried him to Niagara. Fortunately for him, it so 
happened that just as they arrived at the fort, a 
house took fire, and his keepers all left him to save 
the building, if possible. Allen had supposed his 
doom to 'be nearly sealed; but finding himself at 
liberty, he took to. his heels, left his escort to put 
out the fire, and ran to Tonnewanda. There an In- 
dian gave him some refreshment, and a good gun, 
with which he hastened on to Little Beards Town, 
K 



146 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



where he found his squaw. Not daring to risk him- 
self at that place for fear of being given up, he 
made her but a short visit, and came immediately to 
Gardeau. 

Just as he got to the top of the hill above the Gar- 
deau flats, he discovered a party of British soldiers ; 
and Indians in pursuit of him; and in fact they were 
so near that he was satisfied that they saw him, and 
concluded that it would be impossible for him to es- 
cape. The love of liberty, however, added to his : 
natural swiftness, gave him sufficient strength to s 
make his escape to his former castle of safety. His s 
pursuers came immediately to my bouse, where they 
expected to have found him secreted, and under my 
protection. They told me where they had seen him 
but a few moments before, and that they were con- 
fident that it was within my power to put him into 
their hands. As I was perfectly clear of having 
had any hand in his escape, I told them plainly that 
I had not seen him since he was taken to Niagara, 
and that I could give them no information at all 
respecting him. Still unsatisfied, and doubting my 
veracity, they advised my Indian brother to use his 
influence to draw from me the secret of his conceal- , 
ment, which they had an idea that I considered of 
great importance, not only to him, but to myself. I 
persisted in my ignorance of his situation, and fi- i' 
nally they left me. 

Although I had not seen Allen, I knew his place 
of security, and was well aware that if I told them 
the place where he had formerly hid himself, they 
would have no difficulty in making him a prisoner. 

He came to my house in the night, and awoke me ? 
with the greatest caution, fearing that some of his . 
enemies might be watching to take him at a time 
when, and in a place where it would be impossible . 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 147 

! 

for him to make his escape. I got up and assured 
him that he was then safe; but that his enemies 
would return early in the morning and search him 
out if it should be possible. Having given him some 
victuals, which he received thankfully, I told him to 
j go, but to return the next night to a certain corner 
i of the fence near my house, where he would find a 
quantity of meal that I would have prepared and de- 
1 posited there for his use. 

I Early the next morning, Nettles and his company 
I came in while I was pounding the meal for Allen, 
and insisted upon my giving him up. I again told 
them that I did not know where he was, and that I 
could not, neither would I, tell them any thing about 
him. I well knew that Allen considered his life in 
j my hands; and although it was my intention not to 
! lie, 1 was fully determined to keep his situation a pro- 
found secret. They continued their labor, and ex- 
amined, as they supposed, every crevice, gully, tree, 
and hollow log in the neighboring woods, and at last 
concluded that he had left the country, gave him up 
for lost, and went home. 

At that time Allen lay in a secret place in the 
gulf, a short distance above my flats, in a hole that 
he accidentally found in the rock near the river. At 
night he came and got the meal at the corner of the 
fence as I had directed him, and afterwards lived in 
the gulf two weeks. Each night he came to the 
pasture and milked one of my cows, without any 
other vessel in which to receive the milk than his 
hat, out of which he drank it. I supplied him with 
meal, but fearing to build a fire, he was obliged to 
eat it raw*, and wash it down with the milk. Net- 
tles having left our neighborhood, and Allen consi- 
dering himself safe, left his little cave and came 
home. I gave him his box of money and trinkets, 



148 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



and he went to his own house at Mount Morris, It 
was. generally considered by the Indians of our 
tribe, that Allen was an innocent man; and that the 
Niagara people were persecuting him without a just 
cause. Little Beard, then about to go to the east- 
ward on public business, charged his Indians not to 
meddle with Allen, but to let him live amongst them 
peaceably, and enjoy himself with his family and 
property if he could. Having the protection of the 
chief, he felt himself safe, and let his situation be 
known to the whites, from whom he suspected no 
harm. They, however, were more inimical than 
our Indians, and were easily bribed by Nettles, to 
assist in bringing him to justice. Nettles came on, 
and the whites, as they had agreed, gave poor Allen 
up to him. He was bound and carried to Niagara, 
where he was confined in prison through the winter. 
In the spring he was taken to Montreal or Quebec 
for trial, and was honorably acquitted. The crime 
for which he was tried was, for having carried the 
wampum to the Americans, and thereby putting too 
sudden a stop to their war. 

From the place of his trial he went directly to 
Philadelphia, and purchased on credit, a boat load' 
of goods, which he brought by water to Conhocton, 
where he left them and came to Mount Morris fori 
assistance to get them brought on. The Indians- 
readily went with horses and brought them to his 
house, where he disposed of his dry goods; but not 
daring to let the Indians begin to drink strong liquor, , 
for fear of the quarrels which would naturally fol- 
low, he sent his spirits to my place, and we sold), 
them. For his goods he received ginseng roots, \ \ 
principally, and a few skins. Ginseng at that timej I 
was plenty, and commanded a high price. We pre- k J 
pared the whole that he received for the market, \ I 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



149 



expecting that he would carry them to Philadelphia. 
In that I was disappointed; for when he had dispo- 
sed of, and got pay for all his goods, he took the gin- 
seng and skins to Niagara, and there sold them and 
came home. 

j| Tired of dealing in goods, he planted a large field 
ji of corn on or near his own land, attended to it faith- 
fully, and succeeded in raising a large crop, which 
I he harvested, loaded into canoes, and carried down 
the river to the mouth of Allen's creek, then called 
j by the Indians Gin-is-a-ga, where he unloaded it, 
! built him a house, and lived with his family.. 

The next season he . planted corn at that place, 
and built a grist and saw mill on Genesee falls, now 
I called Rochester. 

At the time Allen built the mills, he had an old 
German living with him by the name of Andrews, 
whom he sent in a canoe down the river with his 
mill irons. Allen went down at the same time; 
but before they got to the mills, Allen threw the old 
man overboard, as it was then generally believed, 
for he was never seen or heard of afterwards. 

In the course of the season in which Allen built 
his mills, he became acquainted with the daughter 
of a white man, who was moving to Niagara. She 
was handsome, and Allen soon got into her good gra- 
ces, so that he married and took her home, to be a 
joint partner with Sally, the squaw, whom she had 
never head of, till she got home and found her in full 
possession; but it was too late to retrace the hasty 
steps she had taken, for her father had left her in 
the care of a tender husband, and gone on. She, 
however, found that she enjoyed at least an equal 
half of her husband's affections, and made herself 
| contented. Her father's name I have forgotten, but 
! hers was Lucy. 



150 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS, 



Allen was not contented with two wives, for in a 
short time after he had married Lucy, he came up 
to my house, where he found a young woman who 
had an old husband with her. They had been on a 
long journey, and called at my place to recruit and 
rest themselves. She filled Allen's eye, and he ac- 
cordingly fixed upon a plan to get her into his pos- 
session. He praised his situation, enumerated his 
advantages, and finally persuaded them to go home 
and tarry with him a few days at least, and partake 
of a part of his comforts. They accepted his gene- 
rous invitation, and went home with him. But they 
had been there but two or three days, when Allen 
took the old gentleman out to view his flats; and as 
they were deliberately walking on the bank of the 
river, pushed him into the water. The old man, 
almost strangled, succeeded in getting out; but his 
fall and exertions had so powerful an effect upon his 
system, that he died in two or three days, and left 
his young widow to the protection of his murderer. 
She lived with him about one year in a state of con- 
cubinage, and then left him. 

How long Allen lived at Allen's creek, I am una- 
ble to state; but soon after the young widow left 
him, he removed to his old place at Mount Morris, 
and built a house, where he made Sally, his squaw, 
by whom he had two daughters, a slave to Lucy, 
by whom he had had one son? still, however, he 
considered Sally to be his wife. After Allen came 
to Mount Morris at that time, he married a girl by 
the name of Morilla Gregory, whose father at the 
time, lived on Genesee flats. The ceremony being 
over, he took her home to live in common with his 
other wives; but his house was too small for his 
famity; for Sally and Lucy conceiving that their 
lawful privileges would be abridged if they received 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



151 



a partner, united their strength and whipped poor 
Morilla so cruelly, that he was obliged to keep her 
in a small Indian house a short distance from his 
own, or lose her entirely. Morilla, before she left 
Mount Morris, had four children. 

One of Morilla's sisters lived with Allen about a 
year after Morilla was married, and then quit him. 

A short time after they all got to living at Mount 
Morris, Allen prevailed upon the chiefs to give to 
his Indian children, a tract of land two miles square, 
where he then resided. The chiefs gave them the 
land, but he so artfully contrived the conveyance, 
that he could apply it to his own use, and by alien- 
ating his right, destroy the claim of his children. 

Having secured the land in that way, to himself, 
he sent his two Indian girls to Trenton, N. J., and 
his white son to Philadelphia, for the purpose of gi- 
ving each of them a respectable English education. 

While his children were at school, he went to 
Philadelphia, and sold his right to the land which 
he had begged of the Indians for his children, to 
Robert Morris. After that, he sent for his daugh- 
ters to come home, which they did. 

Having disposed of the whole of his property on 
the Genesee river, he took his two white wives and 
their children, together with his effects, and remo- 
ved to a Delaware town on the river De Trench, in 
Upper Canada. When he left Mount Morris, Sally, 
his squaw, insisted upon going with him, and actu- 
ally followed him, crying bitterly, a,nd praying for 
his protection, some two or three miles, till he ab- 
solutely bade her leave him, or he would punish 
her with severity. At length, finding her case hope- 
less, she returned to the Indians. 

At the great treaty in 1797, one of Allen's daugh- 
ters claimed the Mt. Morris tract which her father 



152 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



had sold to Robert Morris. The claim was examined 
and decided against her, in favor of Morris* creditors. 

He died at the Delaware town, on the River De 
Trench in the year .1814 or 15,- and left two white 
widows and one squaw, with a number of children, 
to lament his loss. 

By his last will, he gave all his property to his 
last wife, Morilla, and her children, without provi- 
ding in the least for the support of Lucy, or any of 
the other members of his family. Lucy, soon after 
his death, went with her children down the Ohio 
river, to receive assistance from her friends. 

In the revolutionary war, Allen was a tory, and 
by that means became acquainted with our Indians, 
when they were in the neighborhood of his native 
place, desolating the settlements on the Susquehan- 
nah. In those predatory battles he joined them, and 
for cruelty was not exceeded by his Indian comrades. 

At one time, when he was scouting with the Indi- 
ans, he entered a house very early in the morning, 
where he found a man, his wife, and one child, in 
bed. The man instantly sprang on the floor, for 
the purpose of defending himself and little family; 
but Allen despatched him at one blow. He then cut 
off his head, and threw it bleeding, into the bed with 
the terrified woman; took the little infant from its 
mother's breast, dashed its head against the jamb, 
and left the unhappy widow and mother, to mourn 
alone over her murdered family. .It has been said 
by some, that after he had killed the child, he 
opened the fire and buried it under the coals and 
embers: But of that I am not certain. I have often 
heard him speak of that transaction with a great de- 
gree of sorrow, and as the foulest crime he had 
ever committed — one for which I have no doubt he 
repented. 



DEH-HE-WA-M1S. 



153 



CHAPTER XVII. 

The government of the Six Nations, when they 
were in the zenith of their prosperity and power, 
was an oligarchy, composed of a mixture of elec- 
tive and hereditary power, and to the skeleton of 
such a government the remnant of the race still ad- 
here. Their government was administered by chiefs 
— each tribe having two; one of whom was heredi- 
tary, and the other elective; the term of whose office 
was during good behavior, and might be removed 
for any real or supposed sufficient cause, which 
however was seldom put in execution. The elective 
Sachem was the military chieftain, whose duty if 
was, to attend to all the military concerns of the 
tribe, and command the warriors in battle. They 
were both members of the General Council of the 
Confederacy, as well as of the National Council, 
which met as often as necessity required, and set- 
tled all questions, involving matters in which their 
own nation only, had an interest; but the general 
council of the confederacy met but once a year, ex- 
cept in cases of emergency. It then met at Onon- 
daga, being the head quarters of the most central 
nation; where all great questions of general interest, 
such as peace and war — the concerns of tributary 
nations, and all negociations with the French and 
English were debated, deliberated upon, and deci- 
ded. All decisions made by the chiefs of a tribe, 
which affected the members of that tribe only — all 
decisions of the national council, solely relative to 
the affairs of that nation, (a majority of Chiefs con- 
curring) and all decisions of the general council of 
the confederacy, were laws and decrees from which 
there was no appeal. Tllfcre is also a class ofxoun- 



154 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS, 



sellors in the several tribes, who have great influ- 
ence over, but no direct voice in the decision of any 
question. 

Perhaps no people are more exact observers of 
religious duties than those Indians among the Sene- 
cas, who are denominated pagans, in contradistinc- 
tion from those, who, having renounced some of 
their former superstitious notions, have obtained the 
name of Christians. The traditionary faith of their 
fathers having been orally transmitted to them from 
time immemorial, is implicitly ' believed, scrupu- 
lously adhered to, and rigidly practiced. They are 
agreed in their sentiments — are all of one order; 
individual and public good, especially among them- 
selves, being the great motive which excites them 
to attend to those moral virtues that are directed and 
explained by all their rules, and in all their cere- 
monies. 

Many years have elapsed since the introduction 
of Christian Missionaries among them, whom they 
have heard, and very generally understand the pur- 
port of the message they were sent to deliver. They 
say that it is highly probable that Jesus Christ came 
into the world in old times, to establish a religion 
that would promote the happiness of the white peo- 
ple on the other side of the great water; (meaning 
the sea,) and that he died for the sins of his people, 
as the Missionaries have informed them. But, they 
say that Jesus Christ had nothing to do with them; 
and that the Christian religion was not designed for 
their benefit; but rather, should they embrace it, 
they are confident it would make them worse, and 
consequently do them an injury. They say also, 
that the Great Good Spirit gave them their religion; 
and that it is better adapted to their circumstances, 
situation and habits, and % the promotion of their 



D E H-HE-W A-M I 3. 



present comfort and ultimate happiness, than any 
system that ever has or can be devised. They, how- 
ever, believe that the Christian religion is better 
calculated for the good of white people than theirs 
is; and wonder that those who have embraced it, 
do not attend more strictly to its precepts, and feel 
more engaged for its support and diffusion among 
themselves. At the present time, they are opposed 
to preachers or schoolmasters being sent or comin g 
among them; and appear determined by all means 
to adhere to their ancient customs. 

They believe in a Great Good Spirit, whom they 
call in the Seneca language Nau-wah-ne-u, as the 
Creator of the world, and of every good thing — that 
he made men, and all inoffensive animals; that he 
supplies men with all the comforts of life; and that 
he is particularly partial to the Indians, whom they 
say are his peculiar people. They also believe 
that he is pleased in giving them (the Indians) good 
gifts; and that he is highly gratified with their good 
conduct — that he abhors their vices, and that he is 
willing to punish them for their bad conduct, not 
only in this world, but in a future state of existence. 
His residence, they suppose, lies at a great distance 
from them, in a country that is perfectly pleasant, 
where plenty abounds, even to profusion. That 
there the soil is completely fertile, and the seasons 
so mild that the corn never fails to be good — that 
the deer, elk, buffalo, turkies, and other useful ani- 
mals, are numerous, and that the forests are well 
calculated to facilitate their hunting them with suc- 
cess — that the streams are pure, and abound with 
fish; and that nothing is wanting, to render fruition 
complete. Over this territory they say Nau-wah- 
ne-u presides as an all-powerful king; and that 
without counsel he admits to his pleasures all whom 



1.56 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



he considers to be worthy of enjoying so great a 
state of blessedness. To this being they address 
prayers, offer sacrifices, give thanks for favors, and 
perform many acts of devotion and reverence. 

They likewise believe that Nau-wah-ne-u has a 
brother that is less powerful than himself, and who 
is opposed to him, and to every one that is or wishes 
to be good; that this bad Spirit made all evil things, 
snakes, wolves, catamounts, and all other poisonous 
or noxious animals and beasts of prey, except the 
bear, which, on the account of the excellence of its 
meat for food, and skin for clothing, they say was 
made by Nau-wah-ne-u. Besides all this, they say 
he makes and sends them their diseases, bad wea- 
ther, and bad crops; and that he makes and supports 
witches. He owns a large country adjoining that 
of his brother, with whom he is continually at vari- 
ance. His fields are unproductive; thick clouds 
intercept the rays of the sun, and consequently de- 
structive frosts are frequent; game is very scarce, 
and not easil} 7 taken; ravenous beasts are numerous; 
reptiles of every poisoned tooth lie in the path of 
the traveller; the streams are muddy; and hunger, 
nakedness, and general misery, are severely felt by 
those who unfortunately become his tenants. He 
takes pleasure in afflicting the Indians here, and af- 
ter their death, receives all those into his dreary 
dominions, who, in their life time, have been so vile 
as to be rejected by Nau-wah-ne-u, under whose eye 
they are continued in an uncomfortable state for 
ever. To this source of evil they offer some obla- 
tions to abate his vengeance, and render him propi- 
tious. They, however, believe him to be, in a de- 
gree, under subjection to his brother, and incapable 
of executing his plans only by his high permission. 
Public religious duties are attended to in the cele- 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



15? 



bration of particular festivals and sacrifices, which 
are observed with circumspection, and attended with 
decorum. In each year they have five feasts, or sta- 
ted times for assembling in their tribes, and giving 
thanks to Nau-wah-ne-u, for the blessings which they 
have received from his kind, liberal and provident 
hand; and also to converse upon the best means of 
meriting a continuance of his favors. The first of 
these feasts is immediately after they have finished 
sugaring; at which time they give thanks for the 
favorable weather, and great quantity of sap they 
have had, and for the sugar that they have been al- 
lowed to make for the benefit of their families. At 
this, as at all the succeeding feasts, the Chiefs arise 
singly, and address the audience in a kind of exhor- 
tation, in which they express their own thankful- 
ness, urge the necessity and propriety of general 
gratitude, and point out the course which ought to 
be pursued by each individual, in order that Nau- 
wah-ne-u may continue to bless them, and that the 
evil spirit may be defeated. 

On these occasions the chiefs describe a perfectly 
straight line, half an inch wide, and perhaps ten 
miles long, which they direct their people to travel 
upon, by placing one foot before the other, with 
the heel of one foot to the toe of the other, and so 
on, till they arrive at the end. The meaning of 
which is, that they must not turn aside to the right 
hand or to the left into the paths of vice, but keep 
straight ahead in the way of well doing, that will 
lead them to the paradise of Nau-wah-ne-u. 

The second feast is after planting; when they 
render thanks for the pleasantness of the season — 
for the good time they have had for preparing their 
ground and planting their corn; and are instructed by 
their Chiefs, by what means to merit a good harvest. 



158 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



When the green corn becomes fit for use, they 
hold their third, or green corn feast. Their fourth 
is celebrated after corn harvest; and the fifth at the 
close of their year, and is always celebrated at the 
time of the old moon in the last of January or first of 
February. This last deserves particular description. 

The Indians having returned from hunting, and 
having brought in all the venison and skins that 
they have taken, a committee is appointed, con- 
sisting of from ten to twenty active men, to su- 
perintend the festivities of the great sacrifice and 
thanksgiving that is to be immediately celebrated. 
This being done, preparations are made at the 
council-house, or place of meeting, for the re- 
ception and accommodation of the whole tribe; and 
then the ceremonies are commenced, and the whole 
is conducted with a great degree of order and har- 
mony, under the direction of the committee. 

Two white dogs, without spot or blemish, are se- 
lected (if such can be found, and if not, two that 
have the fewest spots) from those belonging to the 
tribe, and killed near the door of the council-house, 
by being strangled. A wound on the animal, or an 
effusion of blood, would spoil the victim, and.render 
the sacrifice useless. The dogs are then painted red 
on their faces* edges of their ears, and on various 
parts of their bodies, and are curiously decorated 
with ribbons of different colors, and fine feathers, 
which are tied and fastened on in such a manner as 
to make the most elegant appearance. They are 
then hung on a post near the door of the council- 
house, at the height of twenty feet from the ground. 
The practice of sacrificing two dogs, was formerly 
strictly adhered to, but at present they sacrifice only 
one. This being done, the frolick is commenced by 
those who are present, while the committee run 



I 



BEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



159 



through the tribe, and hurry the people to assemble, 
by knocking on their houses. At this time the com- 
mittee are naked, (wearing only a breech-clout,) 
and each carries a paddle, with which he takes up 
ashes and scatters them about the house in every 
direction. In the course of the ceremonies, all the 
fire is extinguished in every hut throughout the 
tribe, and new fire, struck from the flint on each 
hearth, is kindled, after having removed the whole 
of the ashes, old coals, occ. Having done this, and 
discharged one or two guns, they go on, and in this 
manner they proceed till they have visited every 
house in the tribe. This finishes the business of the 
first day. 

On the second day the committee dance, go through 
the town with bears-skin on their legs, and at every 
time they start they fire a gun. They also beg 
through the tribe, each carrying a basket in which 
to receive whatever may be bestowed. The alms 
consist of Indian tobacco, and other articles that are 
used for incense or sacrifice. Each manager at this 
time carries a dried tortoise or turtle shell, contain- 
ing a few beans, which he frequently rubs on the 
walls of the houses, both inside and out. This kind 
of manoeuvreing by the committee continues two or 
three days, during which time the people at the 
council-house recreate themselves by dancing. 

On the fourth or fifth day, the committee make 
false faces of the husks, in which they run about, 
making a frightful but ludicrous appearance. In 
this dress, (still wearing the bears-skin,) they run to 
the council-house, smearing themselves with dirt, 
and bedaub every one who refuses to contribute 
something towards filling the basket of incense, 
which they continue to carry, soliciting alms. — 
During all this time they collect the evil spirit, or 



160 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



drive it off* entirely, for the present, and also con- 
centrate within themselves all the sins of their tribe, 
however numerous or heinous. 

On the eighth or ninth day, the committee hav- 
ing received all their sins, as before observed, into 
their own bodies, they take down the dogs; and after 
having transfused the whole of them into one of their 
own number, he, by a peculiar slight of hand, or 
kind of magic, works them all out of himself into the 
dogs. The dogs, thus loaded with ail the sins of the 
people, are placed upon a pile of wood that is directly 
set on fire. Here they are burnt, together with the 
sins with which they were loaded, surrounded by 
the multitude, who throw incense of tobacco, or the 
like, into the fire, the scent of which, they say, goes 
up to Nau-wah-ne-u, to whom it is pleasant and ac- 
ceptable. 

This feast formerly continued nine days, but at 
present it is not usually held more than from five to 
seven, although until within a few years, nine days 
were strictly observed; and during that time the 
chiefs review the national affairs of the year past; 
agree upon the best plan to be pursued through the 
next year, and attend to all internal regulations. 

On the last day, the whole company partake of an 
elegant dinner, consisting of meat, corn, and beans, 
boiled together in large kettles, and stirred till the 
whole is completely mixed and soft. This mess is 
devoured without much ceremony — some eat with a 
spoon, by dipping out of the kettles; others serve 
themselves in small dippers; some in one way, and 
some in another, till the whole is consumed. After 
this, they perform the war dance, the peace dance, 
and smoke the pipe of peace; and then, free from 
iniquity, each repairs to his place of abode, prepa- 
red to commence a new year. In this feast tempe- 



! 



BEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



161 



ranee is observed, and commonly, order prevails in 
a greater degree than would naturally be expected. 

They are fond of the company of spectators who 
are disposed to be decent, and treat them politely in 
their way; but having been frequently imposed upon 
by the whites, they treat them generally with indif- 
ference. 

Even their dances appear to be religious rites, es- 
pecially their war and peace dances. The war 
dance is said to have originated about the time that 
the Six Nations, or Northern Indians, commenced 
the old war with the Cherokees and other Southern 
Indian Nations, about one hundred years ago. 

When a tribe, or number of tribes of the Six Na- 
tions, had assembled for the purpose of going to bat- 
tle v/ith their enemies, the chiefs sung this song, 
and accompanied the music with dancing, and ges- 
tures that corresponded with the sentiments expres- 
sed, as a kind of stimulant to increase their courage 
and anxiety, to march forward to the place of car- 
nage. 

Those days having passed away, the Indians at 
this day, sing the "war song/* to commemorate the 
achievements of their fathers, and as a kind of 
amusement* When they perform it, they arm 
themselves with a war-club, tomahawk, and knife, 
and commence singing with a firm voice, and a stern, 
resolute countenance: but before they get through, 
they exhibit in their features and actions, the most 
shocking appearance of anger, fury, and vengeance, 
that can be imagined: No exhibition of the kind, 
can be more terrifying to a stranger. 

The peace dance is performed to a tune without 
words, by both sexes. The Indians stand erect in 
one place, and strike the floor with the heel and 
oes of one foot, and then of the other, (the heels 



162 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



and toes all the while nearly level,) without chan- 
ging their position in the least. The squaws at the 
same time perform it, by keeping the feet close to- 
gether, .and without raising them from the ground, 
move a short distance to the right, and then to the 
left, by first moving their toes and then their heels. 
This dance is beautiful, and is generally attended 
with decency. 

No people on earth appear to be so strictly mo- 
ral (in conformity to their laws and customs) as the 
North American Indians generally, in their inter- 
course between the sexes. The several nations have 
different forms of approaching to courtship and mar- 
riage, which however, are all very similar: most of 
the tribes tolerate and practice polygamy and di- 
vorce; some, however, do not. Among the Sene- 
cas, both are tolerated, and practiced to some extent. 

For neither marriage nor divorce, is there any 
particular form or ceremony, other than when an 
Indian sees a squaw whom he fancies, he sends a 
present to her mother or parents, who, on recei- 
ving it, consult with his parents, his friends, and 
each other, on the propriety and expediency of the 
proposed connexion. If it is not agreeable, the pre- 
sent is returned; but if it is, the lover is informed 
of his good fortune, and immediately goes to live 
with her, or takes her to a hut of his own preparing. 

If a difficulty of importance arises between a 
married couple, they agree to separate. They di- 
vide their property and children; the squaw takes 
the girls, the Indian the boys, and both are at liberty 
to marry again. 

From all history and tradition, it would appear 
that neither seduction, prostitution, nor rape, was 
known in the calendar of crimes of this rude savage 
race, until their females were contaminated by the 



I 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



163 



embrace of civilized man. And it is a remarkable 
fact, that among the great number of women and 
girls, who have been taken prisoners by the Indians 
during the last two centuries, although they have 
often been tomahawked and scalped, their bodies 
ripped open while alive, and otherwise barbarously 
tortured, not a single instance is on record, or has 
ever found currency in the great stock of gossip and 
story, which ciyilized society is so prone to circu- 
late, that a female prisoner has ever been ill treated, 
abused, or her modesty insulted, by an Indian, with 
reference to her sex. This universal trait in the 
Indian character, cannot be wholly, if in the least, 
attributed to the cold temperament of their constitu- 
tions—the paucity of their animal functions, or want 
of natural propensities; for polygamy is not only 
tolerated, but extensively indulged in, among nearly 
all the North American tribes: of this we have the 
most abundant proof, not relying solely on the tes- 
timony of Mrs. Jemison, who states, that it was tol- 
erated and practiced in the Seneca Nation, but on 
the statements of all writers on that subject, and of 
ail travelers and sojourners in the Indian countries. 

Major Marston, commanding officer at the U. S. 
Fort Armstrong, in the Northwestern Territory, in 
1820, in an official report to our government, rela- 
tive to the condition, customs, religion, &c. of the 
various tribes of the Northwestern Indians, states, 
that "many of these Indians have two or three wives; 
the greatest number that I have known any man to 
have at one time, w r as five. When an Indian wants 
more than one wife, he generally prefers that they 
be sisters, as they are more likely to agree, and live 
together in harmony. A man of fifty or sixty years 
old, who has two or three wives, will frequently 
marry a girl of sixteen." 



164 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



On the other hand, this abstemiousness cannot he 
attributed to the dictates of moral virtue, as that 
would be in direct opposition to all their other traits 
of character. And, again, no society or race of 
men exists, so purely moral, but that, if there was 
any crime within their power to perpetrate, to which 
they were prompted by their passions, some one or 
more would be guilty of committing it if restrain- 
ed by moral virtue only. 

Therefore we are driven to the conclusion, that 
the young warrior has been taught and trained up 
from his infancy, to subdue this passion; and to ef- 
fect that object, he has been operated upon by some 
direful superstitious awe, and appalling fear of the 
consequences of the violation of female chastity; 
and with the same anathema held to his view, taught 
to avoid temptation, by demeaning himself perfectly 
uninquisitive and modest, in the presence of fe- 
males, and especially female prisoners. It is not 
supposed, however, that great exertions are made, 
at the present day, to instil those prejudices, if I may 
be allowed so to apply the word, into the Indian 
youth, for those dicta have been so long promulga- 
ted, and obedience thereto so rigidly enforced, 
through so many generations, that they have become 
an inborn characteristic of the race. 

We can easily perceive the policy of the ancient 
founders of this precautionary branch of savage edu- 
cation, and it is worthy of the paternity of a Solon. 
By this precaution, jealousy, feuds, strife, and blood- 
shed, are avoided among the warriors, while they 
are out on their predatory excursions, stealthily sei- 
zing prisoners, scalps, or plunder by night, or wa- 
rily and noiselessly winding their course through 
the forests by day. 



I 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



185 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

More than eighteen years have elapsed since 
Mary Jemison related the preceding narrative of 
her life and most of its appendages, to our deceased 
friend, the author of the first edition; during which 
period many important incidents have transpired, 
and material changes taken place, involving the 
destiny of the principal subject of this memoir, her 
family and friends, although none very remarkable 
or unexpected. 

Mary Jemison continued to reside on her flats, 
plant, hoe, and harvest her corn, beans, squashes, 
&c. annually, in the same routine of laborious acti- 
vity and undisturbed tranquillity, which she had al- 
ways pursued and enjoyed, in times of peace in the 
nation, and concord in her familiy. But the evening 
of her eventful life, was not suffered thus smoothly 
to pass away. The Senecas having sold all their 
reservations on the Genesee river in 1825, and gi- 
ven possession to the whites soon after, they remo- 
ved with their families, to Tonnewanda, Buffalo 
creek, and Cattaraugus reservations, leaving Mrs. 
Jemison, her daughters and their husbands, on her 
two square miles, surrounded by the whites in every 
direction. Thus situated, she and her children grew 
as discontented and uneasy, as Alexander Selkirk 
was on the Island, of Juan Fernandez. 

They determined to leave their solitary and isola- 
ted abode among the whites, and again join their 
tribe, mix in the society, and partake of the joys 
and the sorrows of their kindred and friends. With 
this in view, Mrs. Jemison sold her annuity of three 
hundred dollars per annum, or rather, received of 
the obligors a commutation therefor, in ready mo- 



166 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



ney. She likewise sold her remaining two square 
miles of land, including her 1 'flats," to Messrs. Hen- 
ry B. Gibson and Jellis Clute. In the summer of 
1831, she removed to the Buffalo creek reservation, 
where she purchased the Indian possessory right to 
a good farm on the Buffalo flats, on which she resi- 
ded in a state of peace and quietude, until the time 
of her decease. 

Mrs. Jemisoirs good traits of character were not 
wholly of the negative kind: she exhibited a rare 
example of unostentatious charity and true benevo- 
lence. She appeared to take great pleasure and 
self-satisfaction, in relieving the distress, and sup- 
plying the wants of her fellow creatures, whether 
white or red; any thing she possessed, however 
much labor it' might have cost her, was freely gi- 
ven, when she thought the necessities of others re- 
quired it It would redound much to the honor of 
the Christian religion, if some of its members would 
pattern, in some measure, after this pagan woman, 
in practicing this most exalted of Christian virtues, 
charity, in feelings as well as in actions. 

The bodily infirmities of old age gradually in- 
creased in Mrs. Jemison, and enervated her frame; 
yet she retained her reason and mental faculties to 
an uncommon extent, for a person of her age; and 
her society was not only endurable, but rendered 
highl}' interesting and desirable, by her natural ex- 
uberant flow of animal spirits and good nature. In 
the summer of 1833, she, in a peaceable and 
friendly manner, seceded from the pagan party of 
her nation, and joined the Christian party, having 
in her own view, and to the satisfaction of her spi- 
ritual instructor, the Rev. Ashex Wright, missionary 
at that station, repudiated paganism, and embraced 
the Christian religion. In the autumn succeeding, 



DEH-HE-WA-MfS. 



167 



she was attacked by disease for almost the first time 
in her protracted pilgrimage, and dropped away 
suddenly from the scenes of this life, on the 19th 
day of September, 1833, at her own dwelling on 
the Buffalo creek reservation, aged about ninety-one 
years. Her funeral was conducted after the man- 
ner, and with the usual ceremonies practiced at 
Christian burials; and was attended by a large con- 
course of people. A marble slab now marks the 
spot where her earthly remains rest, in the grave 
yard near the Seneca Mission church, with the 
following inscription: 

In 

Memory of 
The White Woman 
MARY JEMISON 
Daughter of 
Thomas Jemison & Jane Irwin 
Born on the ocean between Ireland & Phila. in 1742 
or 3. Taken captive at Marsh Creek Pa. in 1755 
carried down the Ohio, Adopted into an Indian 
family. In 1759 removed to Genesee River. Was 
naturalized in 1817. 
Removed to this place in 1831. 
And having survived two husbands and five children 

leaving three still alive; 
She Died Sept 19th 1833 aged about ninety oneyear3 
Having a few weeks before expressed a hope of pardon 
through Jesus Christ 
"The counsel of the Lord that shall stand. ?? 



Mrs. Jemison's three children, Betsey, Nancy, 
and Polly, who survived her, all lived respected, 
and died regretted, at their several places of resi- 
dence on the Seneca reservations, in the short space 
of three months, in the autumn of 1839, aged res- 



168 



BEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



pectively 69, 63, and 58 years, leaving a large 
number of children and grand children to lament 
their Joss. 

Jacob Jemison, the grand-son of Mrs. Jemison, 
mentioned by her in Chapter 10, as having received 
a liberal education, and having commenced the stu- 
dy of medicine; passed through a regular course of 
medical studies, with great success, and was appoin- 
ted an assistant Surgeon in the United States 9 Navy; 
in which capacity he sustained an excellent moral, 
social, and professional character, which requires 
no stronger confirmation, than the laconic eulogium 
pronounced by Capt. E., the commander of the ves- 
sel on board of which he performed duty. Capt. E. 
being asked by a gentleman who had known Jemi- 
son when a boy, how he sustained the character of 
his situation, promptly replied, "there is no person 
on board the ship so generally esteemed as Mr. Je- 
mison, nor a better surgeon in the navy."- Dr. Je- 
mison died five or six years ago, on board his ship 
in the Mediterranean squadron, when about forty 
years of age. 

Several of the grand-children of Mrs. Jemison, 
now living, are highly respected in their nation; 
while their talents and moral standing is duly ap- 
preciated, and their civilities reciprocated among 
the whites. They have acquired the use of the 
English language sufficiently to speak it fluently, 
and have adopted the dress, habits, and manners of 
civilized society. Her grand-children and great 
grand-children, are numerous: they reside on the re- 
maining Seneca reservations in this state at present, 
but will, undoubtedly, ere long, take their departure 
from the land of their fathers, and assume important 
positions in legislative and judicial stations in the 
new Indian Territory west of the Mississippi. 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



169 



CHAPTER XIX. 

Having finished our biographical labors, it may 
j not be uninteresting to the reader, to compare the 

state of the "Genesee country 3 ' as it was eighty- 
! two years ago, when our narrative first introduced 
j us into that region, with what it now is, and view 

the contrast. 

Along the northern border of the district refered 
| to, then too rude and desolate, even for an Indian ■ 
residence, the Erie canal now winds its way, float- 
ing the products of the fertile regions of the west, 
to the great commercial emporium of the nation; 
and returning to the western agriculturists, contri- 
butions from the manufacturing establishments of 
every nation, and the productions of the soil of 
every clime. 

The Genesee Valley canal, now being construc- 
ted, is in a forward and progressive state, being 
now navigable from Rochester to Mount Morris. 
This canal extends from the Erie canal at Roches- 
ter, up the west bank of Genesee river, and on the 
western margin of its flats, past Scottsville — near 
Fowlersville and Geneseo— through the village of 
Cuyler, and past Moscow, to Squawkie Hill and 
Mount Morris, having passed through the ancient 
sites of Cannewagus, Bigtree, Little Beard's and 
Squawkie Hill villages. At Squawkie Hill, it crosses 
Genesee river in a pond, where it diverges from 
the river, and pursues its course through the village 
of Mount Morris, and up the valley of the Canne- 
skraugah creek, to the Shaker settlement, in the 

| town of Groveland; from which place a branch ca- 
nal extends along the valley of the Canneskraugah 

! to Dansville — the main canal here taking the val- 



170 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



ley of the Cushaqua creek, converging again to- 
wards the river, passing through the villages of 
Nunda Valley and Messenger's Hollow, reaches 
Genesee river again at Portageville, after having 
been carried through the "deep cut," necessary to 
disengage it from the valley of the Cushaqua; and the 
Tunnel upwards of sixty rods in length, through the 
ridge of rock, mentioned in Chapter 5, page 62, as 
having, according to conjecture, once extended 
across the river, and filled its present channel above 
the upper falls. 

At Portageville the canal is taken across the river 
in an aqueduct; it then traverses the western bank 
of the river, and the western margin of the flats, 
passing Mixville within half a mile of its center, 
from which is constructing a navigable feeder into 
the canal; from thence it continues along the west- 
tern margin of Canneadea flats, to Black creek, 
which approaches the river from the south-west. 
The canal then passes up the valley of Black creek, 
to the summit level, in the town of Cuba; thence 
across the summit level, about two miles through a 
marsh, to the waters of Oil creek; thence down its 
valley, through the village of Cuba to Hinsdale, at 
the junction of Oil and Ischua creeks, whence the 
stream assumes the name of Olean creek; thence 
down the Olean valley to the village of Olean, on 
the Allegany river, which is about fourteen miles 
above the Indian village of Unawaumgwa or Tune- 
unguan, introduced to our readers in the fourth and 
fifth chapters. It is a fact, however unimportant it 
may appear, that this canal, from Olean to Little 
Beard's Town, follows, with no material deviation, 
the old Indian path or trail which Mary Jemison tra- 
veled nearly a century ago, when she first came to 
Genishau. 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



171 



Although the whole of the Genesee country is 
I now chequered with groves, orchards, and fields; 
! studded with villages, country seats, farm houses, 
I barns, and granaries, it will not he thought invidious 
to particularize the present situation of the localities 
| especially referred to in the preceding pages. 

The ground on which stood the great metropolis 
j of the Senecas, Little Beard's Town; is now con- 
| verted into fruitful corn and wheat fields, but ad- 
! joining is the village of Cuyler, which has sprung 
up as it were by magic, since the Genesee Valley 
canal became navigable to Mount Morris. The vil- 
lage of Geneseo, with its court house and other 
county buildings, churches, academies, and elegant 
! private mansions, lies about three miles to the north- 
east, while Moscow, with its spacious public square, 
churches, academy, &c, lies two miles to the 
south-west. The sites of Bigtree and Cannewagus 
villages, are known only as fertile fields, yielding 
abundant harvests; while on the east side of the 
Genesee, near Cannewagus, is the pleasant village 
of West Avon, and the Avon mineral springs, the 
medical properties of whose waters, and the roman- 
tic scenery displayed in its location and environs, 
renders it of late years, a desirable retreat for in- 
valids and the infirm, and a fashionable resort for 
health and beauty. The old encamping ground at 
the u Big Bend," is now occupied by the staid bu- 
siness village of Batavia, with its county buildings, 
five churches, female seminary, &c. 

The Tonnewanda, Tuscarora, Cattaraugus, and 
Buffalo creek villages, are still occupied by the 
remnant of the Senecas; but Tonnewanda has its 
neighboring villages of Akron and Caryville — Tus- 
carora its Lewiston, Cattaraugus its Lagrange, and 
the Buffalo creek villages are closely bordered by 



172 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



the city of Buffalo, with its immense commerce, 
and all the various component parts, with the useful [ 
and ornamental appendages which constitutes a city. 
Geneva occupies the ground on which Gen. Sullivan ' 
captured a village containing one pappoose, and the i 
site of the "Old Castle," is now flanked by Castle- 
ton. The sabbatical and wealthy village of Canan- 
daigua, with its elegant public and private edifices, 
stands in bold contrast with the midnight pbw-wows 
of Cah-nan-dah-gwa, with its cluster of wigwams, 
Dansville takes its station "among the Slippery 
Elms," and improves with commendable zeal, its ma- 
nufacturing facilities. Although the site of Squaw- 
kie Hill village is used for agricultural purposes 
only; in its vicinity, on the ground where stood one 
of Ebenezer or Indian Allen ? s harems, now stands 
the lively and pleasant village of Mount Morris. 
Above the Portage falls is the village of Porta ge- 
ville, with its great water power, and numerous } 
factories. Near the site of the lower Canneadea 1 
Indian village, is the village of Mixville, with its 
church and other public buildings — its unrivaled fa- 
cilities for using its permanent water power and its 
present machinery propelled thereby. The Allega- ' 
ny river villages are still occupied by the Indians. 

Near the mouth of Alien's creek, between Mount [ 
Morris and Rochester, where stood Indian Allems 
other harem, stands the village of Scottsville, a flou- 
rishing business place; and at the northern succes- 1 
sion of great falls on the Genesee, where Allen 
built the first apology for a grist mill in the west, 
now stands the city of Rochester, with all its superb 
public and private edifices, its commerce and manu- 
factures, together with its hundred run of stones in its 
flouring mills, manufacturing more flour annually, 
than is produced at any other place on the globe. 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



173 



Some idea of the improvements in a social and 

; religious point of view, which have taken place on 

! this territory within less than thirty years, may be 

, drawn from the following fact: 

| In the year 1811, there was standing near the 

| Caledonia springs, a wood colored house, without 
porch, steeple, dome, or tower, to denote its use. 
This building was occupied as a Scotch Presbyterian 

I meeting house; and it was at that time, the only 
building erected, or exclusively used for Divine 

\ worship, in the state of New- York, on, or west of 
Genesee river, although the territory then contained 
at least twenty-five thousand inhabitants. 

During the three following years, this territory 

| was the scene of a border warfare, in which no age 
or sex was -exempt from slaughter; and no edifice 

\ too sacred for the application of the torch. The 
observance of the Sabbath was merged in the tu- 
mults of the camp; and the din of battle, with its 
martial music, usurped the place of the deep toned 
organ and the harmonious choir; whilst the full 
voice of the commanding chief silenced the persua- 
sive eloquence of the apostolic minister — the mes- 
senger of peace. 

This territory now contains two large cities, and 
is thickly interspersed with thriving villages: the 
cities contain numerous houses for public worship; 
each village is provided with from one to five; and 
in the back farming towns, where there is no 
compact settlement deserving the name of a village, 
the eye of the traveller will scarcely lose sight of 
one or more of those spires, cupolas, or towers, 
pointing towards the skies, emphatically proclaim- 
ing to his mental ear, as from the surrounding habi- 

! tations, "We too worship God." 



174 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS-. 



CHAPTER XX. 

History and tradition alike inform us, that the 
Mohawks, the Oneidas, the Cayugas, and the Sene- 
cas, had, from time immemorial, formed themselves 
into a great Confederacy; strictly adhering to an 
offensive and defensive alliance. They occupied 
for their dwelling grounds, a wide spread territory, 
extending from near the banks of the Hudson, to 
the shores of Lake Erie, and from the mouth of the 
Allegany to the confines of the St. Lawrence. This 
tract comprises a greater body of more fertile land, 
combinded with a temperate and healthy climate — 
great facilities of water communication, not only 
within the territory, but extending from it in all di- 
rections — with extensive hunting grounds and fishe- 
ries, than any other tract of the same extent in 
North America. 

This territory is admirably adapted to the occupa- 
tion of a roving and migratory people, who depend 
more on the chase, and the spontaneous productions 
of nature for sustenance, than on agriculture and 
the regular productions of labor. Besides this vast 
domain for a residence, they claimed an exclusive 
right to all that region of country between the Ohio 
river and Lake Erie, (now the state of Ohio,) for a 
spacious hunting ground; and the martial prowess 
of that mighty confederacy, enabled them promptly 
to repel any intrusion from other tribes. They 
were indeed a mighty people — whose forces could 
be seen, and whose powers could be felt, and often 
were felt, from the banks of the St. Lawrence to the 
Gulf of Mexico, and from the tides of the Hudson to 
the banks of the Mississippi. Until the year 1712 
this people were called by the English, "The Five 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



175 



, Nations " or " The Confederates "— by the French, 
j "The Iroquois," — by the Dutch, "The Maquas," 
and by themselves "The Mingoes." During that 
I year, the Tuscaroras, whose habitation had been in 
:j the west part of North Carolina, after some distur- 
bances with the whites in that region, evacuated their 
1 possessions in that colony — removed to Western 
New York, and were adopted by the Mingoes as a 
j sixth Nation. They lived between the Oneidas and 
! Onondagas, on lands assigned them for a residence 
by the former. After which, the English usually 
denominated the confederates "The Six Nations," 

In 1784, soon after peace had been ratified between 
the United States and Great Britain, a treaty of peace 
| and amnesty was concluded between the United 
I States and the Six Nations, in which their territorial 
I limits were defined, to wit, they were to possess all 
the State of New York west of what was called the 
"Property Line," with the exception of two reserva- 
tions, one of six miles square Including Fort Oswego; 
and the other, along the Niagara river, about thirty- 
five miles long and four miles wide, including Forts 
Niagara and Schlosser and the Portage road from 
Lake Ontario to Lake Erie. The Property Line 
here refered to, was a line commencing at the north- 
1 east corner of Pennsylvania, and running in its 
j general course a little east of north, crossing the 
Mohawk river, at or near the place where the divi- 
sion line of the counties of Herkimer and Oneida 
1 now crosses the same. They were likewise to retain 
a part of Pennsylvania, but were required to cede to 
the United States their extensive hunting grounds 
north of the Ohio, which met with violent opposi- 
i tion by many of the Indian chiefs and orators, but 
| was finally acquiesced in by the Council. It was on 
] this occasion that the celebrated Red Jacket, then a 



176 



DEH-HE-WA-MXS. 



youth, opened the flood-gates of his eloquence; and 
poured forth its magic powers, to sustain the then 
gradually declining, yet still lofty elevation of his 
people; and to check the encroachments of the whites 
on their territorial demesnes, which his prophetic 
mind clearly saw would at no distant day, if not 
effectually opposed, prostrate their empire, and 
eradicate their race as a distinct people. 

At different periods, from that time to the present, 
the several nations have ceded large portions of their 
lands to this state, and to persons holding the pre- 
emption right under the Government: out of which, 
in most cases they retained for themselves, small 
reservations. In 1797 the last great sale was made 
by the Senecas to Robert Morris, being the extreme j 
western part of the State — reducing the once exten- 
sive possessions of the Mingoes, to a few small, 
detached reservations. The Senecas in this sale | 
reserved the following tracts: the Cannewagus, Big- 
tree, Little Beard's, Squawkie Hill, Gardeau and 
Canneadea (ail lying on the Genesee river) the Oil 
Spring, Allegany, Cattaraugus, Buffalo Creek, Ton- 
ne wanda and Tuscarora Reservations, contain- 
ing in the whole about 337 square miles. The 
Tuscaroras had a donation from the Holland Land 
Company of two square miles, and in 1804 they | 
purchased of. the same Company 4,329 acres, for 
which they paid 13,752 dollars in cash. 

In 1825 the Senecas held a council, at which they 
sold and ceded to the persons claiming the pre-emp- 
tion right to the same, all their Reservations on 
Genesee River (the Gardeau Reservation excepted, 
that being a special concern) the Oil-Spring Reser- 
vation, and portions of the Cattaraugus, Buffalo 
Creek, and Tonnewanda Reservations, leaving less 
than one hundred and ninety square miles in Alle- 



DEH-HE-WA-MIS. 



177 



| gany, Cattaraugus, Buffalo creek, Tonnewanda, and 

j Tuscarora reservations. 

In 1838 another treaty was held by the Senecas 

j and Tuscaroras, at which the Senecas, (or a portion 
of their chiefs,) and the Tuscaroras, agreed to sell 
to the pre-emption right owners, called the Ogden 

1 Land Company, the residue of their reservations in 
western New-York, and emigrate within .five years, 
to other lands, which they were to receive in ex- 
change, lying in the Indian territory west of the 
Mississippi. Since which, a violent warfare has 
been carried on, not only orally, but through peri- 
odicals and pamphlets, using petitions, memorials, 
and remonstrances to the United States govern- 
ment, for their heavy artillery. By a portion of the 
Senecas — and probably a majority— a few restless 
spirits among the whites, who always hang around 
the borders of Indian settlements, and the New- 
York, Pennsylvania, and Maryland quakers, on the 
one hand; who insist that, although the grossest 
bribery and corruption has been resorted to, the 
treaty has not been executed in council, according 
to the usages and customs of the Indians, nor has it 
been confirmed according to the laws of the United 
States; while on the other hand, the Ogden Land 
Company, their retainers, and a portion of the Se- 
necas, backed by another class of worthless whites, 
insist, that the treaty has been formally executed by 
all the parties, and that as few bribes have been dis- 
tributed, as is usual on such occasions. 

If the only object of the nulliflers, was to procure 
for the Indians an equivalent for their trouble and 
privations, in making the exchange of lands, their 

I proceedings might be justifiable; but they insist that 

: the poor Indians shall not emigrate. It certainly 

i can not be of any great importance to the individu- 

i M 



178 



DEH-BE-WA-MIS, 



als of this remnant of the race, whether they are 
removed by the government, or whether they re- 
main where they now are; provided, that in adopt- 
ing either course, they do it willingly and cheerfully; 
and.it cannot be doubted but that, if they had been 
left to the unbiassed volition of their own minds, the 
Senecas, as a body, would have accepted with joy, 
the proposition of the government for their removal. 

The Indians should be honestly and honorably 
dealt with, and their rights should be guarded with 
vigilance, and protected with firmness and effect; 
but as the United States government has adopted the 
policy of inducing all the Indians within the terri- 
tory of the several states, to leave their present 
abodes, and retire, with the aid, and under the fos- 
tering care and protection of that government, to a 
country peculiarly adapted to their wants, habits, 
and modes of life, where no state jurisdiction can ! 
ever interfere with their laws, customs, and pecu- i 
liarities; it is the duty of the citizens to assist the 
government in carrying its measures into effect, as 
ftr as they can do so, honestly and honorably; or 
at least, to remain neutral in relation thereto, and 
not undertake to thwart the measures of govern- 
ment, and at the same time render the pretended 
objects of their care, more miserable than they oth- 
wise would be; for we will venture to predict, that, 
notwithstanding the most vigorous exertions of such 
philanthropists to the contrary, the time is not far 
distant, when the Genius of the Empire State will 
behold the last of the Mingoes, wending his way to- 
wards the setting sun. 



APPENDIX. 



TRAGEDY OF THE DEVIL'S HOLE. 
The author and compiler of the first edition of 
this work, took much pains to procure a correct 
statement of this transaction, as its details had never 
before been published. He procured the statement 

i of Jesse Ware, then a resident at Fort Schlosser— 
an aged man, who, after the occurrence, had been 

I for a long time, an intimate friend and boon com- 
panion of William Stedman, the principal, if not 
the only person of the English party, who escaped 
this horrible massacre with life. This statement ap- 

l pears to have awakened enquiry, by which some er- 
rors have been detected, and some new information 
obtained; therefore we give a remodeled statement 
of the affair, from all the materials now in our pos- 
session. 

After Forts Niagara and Schlosser were taken 
from the French by the British, in July, 1759, Sir 
William Johnson, the British commander, made a 
contract with William Stedman, to construct a por- 
tage road from Lewiston landing to Fort Schlosser, 
the distance of eight miles, to facilitate the transpor- 
tation of provisions and military stores from one 
place to the other, and superintend the transporta- 
tion of the same. 

On the 20th of June, 1763, Mr. Stedman, in con- 
formity to his agreement, having finished the road, 
started, for the first time, with twenty-five loaded 
wagons, from Lewiston to Fort Schlosser. 

Sir William Johnson, being suspicious of the in-* 
tegrity of the Seneca Indians, although the French 
| war was then ended, and amnesty between all par- 
i ties, the Six Nations included, reciprocally declared; 



APPENDIX. 



detached a party of fifty soldiers with their officers, 
to escort Mr. Stedman's party. The Seneca Indians, 
who, from their late allies the French, had imbi- 
bed an inveterate hatred against the English, watch- I 
ed the progress, of the construction of the road, and 
were determined to nip in the bud, the first attempt 
to use it, as they considered it a trespass on their 
premises, and an infringement on their rights. JBy 
means of their friendly intercourse with the English, 
they easily ascertained the time the first attempt 
would be made to cross the portage with teams. 
They accordingly congregated their whole force at \ 
that time, and lay in ambush on the Niagara river, 
about half way between Lewiston and Fort Schlos- 
ser. At this place the road approaches within a few 1 
feet of the edge of a precipice, at an acute angle in [ 
the eastern bank of the river, which descends 
from eighty to a hundred feet almost perpendicularly, j 
into a hideous looking dell, called the Devil's Hole* 

As soon as the British transportation party arrived 
at this place, the Indians sallied from their ambus- . 
cade, enclosed the whole body of the English, and 
either killed on the spot, or drove off the banks, ev- 
ery soldier, officer, teamster and assistant, amount- \ 
ing to near one hundred men, together with their 
horses, carriages, loading, and every thing else per- 
taining to the expedition, except Mr. Stedman, the , 
superintendant, who was on horseback. 

A robust and gigantic Indian seized Mr. Stedman's , 
horse by the bridle reins, and was leading him east 
to the woods, through the scene of deadly strife, 
probably for the purpose of devoting him to the 
more excrutiating torments of a sacrifice; but while - 
the captor's attention was drawn in another direc- 
tion for a moment, Stedman, with his knife, cut the 
bridle reins near the bits, at the same time thrusting 



APPENDIX. 181 

his spurs into the flanks of his well trained char- 
i ger, rode east into the forest, being the target of 
hundreds of Indian rifles aimed at his person and 
' flying steed, from which he nor his horse received 
[ the least injury. He continued his course east about 
I two miles, where he struck Gill creek, which he fpl- 
I lowed down to its mouth, and then down the bank 
; of the Niagara river, to Fort Schlosser. 

From all the accounts of this barbarous transaction, 
| Mr. Stedman was the only person belonging to his 
i party, who was not either driven or thrown off into 
the Devil's Hole. Tradition has transmitted to us 
various accounts of the fate of some few others of 
the party, that is, that one, two, or three others 
escaped with life, after being driven off the bank, 
although badly wounded and maimed by the fall, 
most of the accounts agree in the escape of a little 
drummer, who was caught while falling, in the limb 
of a tree, by his drum strap, from which he extri- 
cated himself, and descended the body of the tree to 
the ground. The account of this escape is the most 
to be relied on, because the most probable. Pieces 
of the wreck of this expedition, are to be found at 
the bottom of the Devil's Hole at the present day. 

As no attempt was made by the Indians, in this 
affair, except in the case of Stedman, to take pri- 
soners, scalp the dead, or procure plunder, it appears 
that those minor objects were entirely merged in the 
. more exalted pursuit, (according to their views,) of 
destruction, blood, and carnage. 

The escape of Mr. Stedman, not only from the 
iron grasp of one of their most athletic and power- 
ful warriors, but from the shower of rifle balls dis- 
I charged at him from the rifles of their best and most 
' unerring marksmen, confounded the Indians with 
! wonder and fear, furnishing a subject whereon to 



APPENDIX. 



feed their most absurd superstitious whims. They 
at once pronounced him a favorite of the Great Spi- 
rit, and to appease its wrath, made Stedman a pre- 
sent of the tract of land he had encompassed, in his 
retreat to Fort Schlosser, to wit — beginning at the 
Devil's Hole, thence running east, to Gill creek; 
thence southerly, down the creek, to the Niagara 
river; thence west, down the river, to Niagara 
Falls; and thence northerly, still bounding on the 
river, to the place of beginning; being a tract about 
two miles wide, and three and a half miles long. 
But neither the British government, nor the United 
States, or either of the states, has ratified or confir- 
med that gift; although Jesse Ware, claiming under 
Stedman, has, for a number of years in succession, 
assailed our legislative halls for the land, or some 
remuneration therefor. Nor does it appear that 
even the Indians themselves, after the excitement 
produced by the transaction had subsided, recogni- 
zed any validity in Stedman's title; for the next 
year, 1764, they ceded the same tract, together 
with other lands, extending north to Lake Ontario, 
to the king of Great Britain, for a carrying place 
around the Falls of Niagara. 



GENERAL SULLIVAN'S EXPEDITION TO 
WESTERN NEW-YORK. 
During the years 1777 and 78, the warriors of 
the Six Nations, the greater portion of the Oneidas 
excepted, bribed by British gold, clothing, rum, 
and gewgaws, and impelled by their natural thirst 
for blood — entirely disregarding all former treaties 
and pledges — attacked and laid waste, the north- 
western frontier settlements of New-York and Penn- 



I 



APPENDIX. 



183 



sylvania. Their footsteps were indelibly marked 
with the tomahawk and scalping knife, without re- 
gard to age, sex or condition; and the destruction 
of all property on which the fire-brand or rifle ball 
could be made to take effect— as the valley of Wy- 
oming, the fields of Cherry Valley, and the banks of 
the Mohawk, bore melancholy testimony. 

It became necessary for the safety, if not for the 
very existence of our border settlements, that these 
hired plunderers, incendiaries, and assassins, should 
receive a signal chastisement for their predatory and 
barbarous incursions; not only as an act of retribu- 
tive justice, but to deprive them of the means of re- 
peating these atrocities. To effect this grand desi- 
deratum, in the spring of 1779, measures were ta- 
ken to destroy their abodejs, "and their means of sub- 
sistence—drive them from their retreats to more re- 
mote regions, and strike them with terror at the ex- 
terminating principles of the mode of warfare adop- 
ted; this being decided to be the only means of sub- 
duing, or even crippling the strength of a faithless 
foe, whose treaties are made only to be broken, 
and who are seldom to be caught or found, except 
when for motives of advantage, they choose to stay 
or to reveal themselves. 

As no connected account of this transaction in 
detail, has ever been published, to our knowledge, 
we are under the necessity of culling from all the 
sources now accessible, the most authentic materials 
to form a connected narrative. For these materials, 
we acknowledge ourselves indebted to Marshall's 
Life of Washington, the British Annual Register, 
the Encyclopedia Americana, the Researches of De 
Witt Clinton, Washington's Letters, the statement 
of John Salmon. Esq., late of Groveland, Livingston 
county, N. ¥., who was orderly sergeant in the riflo 



184 



APPENDIX. 



company commanded by Capt Michael Simpson, 
and Lieut. Thomas Boyd, forming part of Sullivan's 
army; and last, although not least, the statements of 
our worthy friend Major Moses Van Camp en, who | 
bore a conspicuous part in the battle, which took 
place on the Tioga, and now resides as a retired 
gentleman, in the valley of the Genesee. 

The original plan of this important campaign, 
was, that the country of the Six Nations should be 
entered by three divisions of the army at the same 
time. The principal body, composed of Generals 
Maxwell, Hand, and Poor's brigades, together with 
a train of artillery, the whole consisting of about 
three thousand men, to rendezvous at Wyoming, | 
under the immediate command of Major General l 
Sullivan; from whence to march up the Susquehan- 
nah, and enter the heart of the territory of the Six 
Nations, occupied by the Senecas and the Cayugas. | 
The second division, composed of Gen.. Clinton's ! 
command of about fifteen hundred, who had winter- j 
ed at Schoharie, were to ascend the valley of the 
Mohawk, pass through the territories of the Oneidas, 
as the}^ had adhered to the treaty of neutrality, and 
attack and lay waste the settlements of the Tuscaro- 
ras and Onondagas; after which they were to join | 
Gen. Sullivan in the Genesee country; and the third j 
division, consisting of between five and six hundred 
men, under the command of Col. Brodhead, to 
march from Pittsburg up the Allegany, and after 
laying waste the Seneca villages and settlements on j 
that river, likewise to join General Sullivan, if ne- 
cessary. 

Before the troops destined for the grand expedi- 
tion had been put in motion, owing to some unfor- 
tunate circumstances, an enterprize of less extent ! 
was projected by Gen. Schuyler, and its execution 



APPENDIX. 



185 



carried into effect with complete success. On the 
19th of April, Col. Van Schaick, assisted by Lieut. 
Col. Willett and Maj. Cochran, at the head of be- 
tween five and six hundred men, marched from 
Fort Schuyler, (Utica,) and on the third day, reach- 
ed and surprised the Onondaga Indian settlements. 
In the first village which they attacked, they killed 
twelve Indians, and made thirty-four prisoners, in- 
cluding one white man; this giving the alarm, the 
Indians deserted the other villages, extending over 
a large territory, and fled to the woods. The party 
then, without molestation, burned all their buildings, 
provisions, and other combustible property in the 
several villages — killed their horses, cattle, and 
other stock, and utterly destroyed the whole settle- 
ment. With such precipitancy had the Indians fled 
from their villages, that they left about a hundred 
rifles and guns in their houses. The party having 
finished their work of destruction, returned to Fort 
Schuyler on the sixth day, without the loss of a man. 

The eastern division of the army under the 
command of General Clinton, marched to Sche- 
nectada in the month of May, and proceeded up the 
Mohawk in boats, overawing and putting to flight, 
the remnant of the Mohawks, who were still hang- 
ing around their native valley. But in consequence 
of the principal object of their being assigned to 
that route, the destruction of the Onondaga settle- 
ments having been accomplished by the enterprise 
of Col. Van Schaick and his party, on their arrival 
at Canajoharie, Gen. Clinton received orders from 
Maj. Gen. Sullivan under whose command he was, 
to march his division to Otsego Lake, provide boats, 
and make other preparations to descend the eastern 
branch of the Susquehannah river, and meet him at 
Tioga Point, when afterwards directed. Agreeable 



186 



APPENDIX. 



to orders, Gen. Clinton marched his division to Ot- 
sego Lake, provided two hundred and eight boats, 
and necessary provisions, threw a dam across the 
outlet, thereby raising the water in the lake two feet 
or over, to enable him, when he pleased, to cause a 
freshet in the river, to float his boats down with the 
greater rapidity and safety. He then waited for 
further orders. 

The main army, which rendezvoused at Wyo- 
ming, under command of Gen. Sullivan, for the 
want of supplies, and by reason of other adverse 
circumstances, did not leave that place until the last 
of July, when it marched to Tioga Point, where, on 
the 22d of August, it was joined by the eastern di- 
vision, under Gen. Clinton. After the junction of 
the two divisions, Gen. Sullivan assumed the com- 
mand in chief, having for his immediate subordin- 
ates, Generals Clinton, Maxwell, Poor, and Hand, 
and Maj. Par, of the rifle corps. 

Gen. Sullivan then marched up the Tioga river 
in search of the enemy, who he had ascertained, 
were in some force, at no great distance on that 
route. On the 29th of August, at 11 o'clock A. M. 
the enemy was discovered by the van guard, about 
one mile below Newtown, (now Elmira.) The 
whole force that the enemy were able to collect, 
amounting, according to Sullivan's account, to fif- 
teen hundred, of whom two hundred were white to- 
ries, known as Butler's Rangers, and the residue 
Indians, commanded by Brandt, the two Butlers, 
Grey, Guy Johnson, and McDonald, were here as- 
sembled, covered by a lengthy breastwork, rudely 
constructed of logs and felled trees, masked with 
pine and shrub-oak bushes stuck in the ground. The 
right flank of this work, was covered by the river, 
and on their left, and in front, were two sharp rid- 



APPENDIX. 



187 



ges, parallel to each other, covered with parties of 
Indians, ready to fall on the right flank and rear of 
Sullivan's army, when it had progressed a sufficient 
distance within the ambuscade. But the whole was 
discovered in time to guard against any disastrous 
results. Gen. Poor was ordered to take possession 
of the outer ridge, turn the enemy's left flank, and 
attack him in the rear; whilst Gen. Hand, aided by 
the artillery, attacked him in front. Gen. Poor, 
assisted by Gen. Clinton, pushed his column up the 
hill, the van guard of which was led by Maj. Van 
Campen, driving the Indians at the point of the 
bayonet; during which time a sharp conflict along 
the whole line of the breastwork, was supported well 
on both sides. But the enemy observing that their 
left flank was entirely exposed, and that they were 
in danger of being surrounded, as Gen. Poor was 
proceeding with great rapidity, the savages, red 
and white, abandoned their breastwork, and cross- 
ing the river, fled with the utmost precipitation. 

This victory cost the Americans about thirty men. 
The ascertained loss of the Indians was also incon- 
siderable; but they w T ere so intimidated, that they 
fled to, and deserted their villages, and abandoned 
the idea of further resistance. 

From Newtown, the army marched north, between 
the lakes, to the Seneca river, and detached parties 
were sent from their encampment in every direction 
overrunning and laying waste the Indian settlements, 
cutting down their orchards, destroying their pro- 
visions and crops, killing their hogs, cattle and hor- 
ses- — in short, applying the besom of destruction to 
every thing that could afford shelter or sustenance 
to man or beast. If indeed the humane feelings of 
the Americans employed in this work of destruction, 
sometimes prompted them to relent their own des- 



188 



APPENDIX. 



tructiveness — the watch-word — Wyoming, Cherry- 
valley, or the Mohawk, would add a fresh impulse 
to the arm, and force the respiration of a fanning 
breeze to the faggot. 

After finishing their labors in the East, the army 
proceeded West, for the purpose of closing its unop- 
posed career of destruction at the chief village of the 
Senecas, Little Beard's Town, lying on the Genesee 
river. They passed the foot of Canandaigua Lake, 
meteing out a full measure of destruction and desola- 
tion on the village and settlement at that place, as 
well as on the village at the outlet of the Honeoy. — 
On their arrival at the head of Conesus Lake within 
eight or nine miles of Little Beard's Town, they en- 
camped on the ground now known as Henderson's 
Flats. . . 

Early in the evening, a party of twenty-one men, 
was detached and sent out under the command of 
Lieut. Boyd, accompanied by a faithful Oneida In- 
dian as a guide, for the purpose of reconnoitering 
in the vicinity of Little Beard's Town. Their first 
point of destination was an Indian village on the East 
side of Genesee river nearly opposite the capital of 
the Senecas, to which it was a kind of suburb. On 
the arrival of the party at the village, they found 
that it had been lately deserted, as the fires in the 
huts were still burning. Being much fatigued, and 
the night being far spent, they encamped for the 
residue of the night in a secluded place near the vil- 
lage, sending two of their number back to the main 
army to report. In the morning they crept from 
their place of concealment, and discovered two Indi- 
ans hovering about the settlement, one of whom was 
immediately shot and scalped by one of the riflemen 
by the name of Murphy. Having thus exposed their 
presence in the place, Lieut. Boyd, concluding that 



APPENDIX. 



189 



any further attempts to gain information, would not 
only be useless, but rashly hazardous, ordered a re- 
treat to the main army. 

This little band retraced their steps until they arri- 
ved within a mile and a half of the camp, when they 
were intercepted by a party of observation from the 
enemy's camp. They fought desperately and rashly, 
for there was no chance to retreat. The result was, 
thaMwelve were killed including their faithful guide. 
Lieut. Boyd, and a private by the name of Parker 
were taken prisoners, and the remaining seven made 
their escape by flight through the enemy's ranks, 
among whom was the brave but incautious Murphy. 
The dead of this little heroic band were left on the 
ground by the Indians, and Lieut. Boyd and Parker 
were immediately conducted to Little Beard's Town. 

When Lieut. Boyd began to realize his situation 
as a prisoner of the Indians, he solicited an inter- 
view with Brandt, who, he knew commanded his cap- 
tors, and of whose character he had received some 
information. This chief immediately presented him- 
self, when Lieut. Boyd by one of those appeals, which 
are known only to those, who have been initiated 
and duly instructed in certain mysteries, and which 
will never fail, to bring succor to a "distressed broth- 
er," addressed him as the only source, from which 
he could expect a respite from cruel punishment or 
a lingering and painful death. The appeal was re- 
cognized, and Brandt immediately, and in the strong- 
est language, assured him that his life should be spa- 
red. Brandt, however being called on to perform 
some particular service which required a few hours 
absence, left the prisoners in the charge of the Bri- 
tish Colonel — Butler, of the Rangers. 

As soon as Brandt had left, Butler commenced his 
interrogatories to obtain from the prisoners a state- 



190 



APPENDIX. 



ment of the number, situation and intentions of the 
army under Gen. Sullivan, and threatened in case 
they hesitated or prevaricated in their answers, to de- 
liver them up immediately to be massacred by the 
Indians, who in Brandt's absence, and with the en- 
couragement of their more savage commander, 
Butler, were ready to commit the greatest cruelties. 
Relying probably on the promises which Brandt had 
made them, and which undoubtedly he intended to 
fulfil, they refused to give Butler the desired infor- 
mation. Butler upon this, hastened to put his threat 
into execution. They were delivered to some of 
their most ferocious enemies, who after having put 
them to the most severe torture, killed them by sev- 
ering their heads from their bodies. [See Mrs. Jem- 
ison's account page 85.] 

The main army immediately after hearing of the 
disaster which befell Lieut. Boyd's detachment, mo- 
ved on towards Genesee river, and finding the bodies 
of those who fell in Boyd's heroic attempt to break 
through the enemy's ranks, buried them on the battle 
ground which is now in the town of Groveland. — 
Upon their arrival at the Genesee river, they crossed 
over and found Little Beard's Town and all the adja- 
cent villages deserted. The bodies of Lieut. Boyd 
and Parker were found and buried in one grave, near 
the bank of Little Beard's Creek, under a clump of 
wild plum-trees, Mr. Salmon was one who assisted 
in committing to the earth, the remains of his friend 
and companion in arms, the gallant Boyd. 

The army having scoured the country for many 
miles up and down the river, burning all the Indian 
villages, and destroying all their corn, hogs, cattle 
and other means of subsistence: finally to close 
their labors of destruction, applied the torch to the 
ancient metropolis of the Seneca Nation, Little 



APPENDIX* 



191 



Beard's Town, which contained one hundred and 
twenty-eight houses. 

While Gen. Sullivan had been laying waste the 
Cayuga and part of the Seneca settlements — the 
western division under Col. Brodhead, marched up 
the Allegany river and French creek. Here too, 
the Indians were totally unable to resist the force 
with which they were invaded; after one unsuccess- 
ful skirmish, they abandoned their villages and prop- 
erty, and fled to the woods for personal safety. Col. 
Brodhead having visited the settlements on French 
creek, ascended the Allegany to Olean Point, des- 
troying all the Indian villages and property on French 
creek and on the Allegany river, and ascertaining 
that it was not necessary for him to join the main ar- 
my, he returned with his division to Pittsburg, leaving 
Cattaraugus, Buffalo Creek, and Tonnewanda settle- 
ments exempt from this general destruction. 

Gen. Sullivan with the main army and the east- 
ern division, having destroyed forty Indian villages, 
(including those destroyed by Col. Van Schaick's 
party, and the western division under Col. Brodhead) 
one hundred and sixty thousand bushels of corn — 
vast quantities of beans and other vegetables, a great 
number of horses, hogs, cattle, farming utensils &c. 
and every thing that was the result of labor or pro- 
duce of cultivation; being the sanguinary achieve- 
ments of three weeks unmolested and unremitting 
employment of between four and five thousand men; 
countermarched to Newtown, having been absent 
five weeks; thence past Tioga Point, Wyoming, and 
Easton, to New Jersey, where he went into winter 
quarters; having lost but about forty men during the 
whole campaign, either by sickness or the fortunes 
of war. 



192 



APPENDIX. 



REMOVAL OF THE REMAINS OF BOYD. 

In the year 1841, some gentlemen in Rochester, 
and along the Genesee Valley, determined to pay a 
tribute of respect to the memory of Lieut. Boyd and 
his companions, who fell or were sacrificed at Little 
Beard's Town and its vicinity, during Gen. Sullivan's 
campaign; by removing their remains to Rochester 
and re-intering them with appropriate solemnities in 
the new cemetery at Mount Hope* 

The necessary preparations were made, by dis- 
intering the remains, depositing them in a capa- 
cious urn, and raising a large mound of earth over 
the grave of Lieut. Boyd, for a memorial. On the 
twentieth of August 1841, a large concourse of peo- 
ple assembled at the village of Cuyler, among whom 
were several revolutionary patriots, and in particu- 
lar Maj. Moses Van Campen, and two other fellow 
soldiers who were with Boyd and his unfortunate 
companions, in Sullivan's army; when the urn con- 
taining the remains, was removed from the top of 
the mound, under convoy of a military escort com- 
posed of several independent companies, and a band 
of music from Rochester, to Col. Cuyler's grove 
near the village of Cuyler, where a pertinent and 
lucid, historical and biographical discourse, was 
pronounced by — Treat Esq., after which, the re- 
mains were escorted to*^ochester, by the military, 
music, citizens, &c, in s^eral canal boats. 

The next day the remain^fcere removed from the 
City of Rochester, to Mount Hope, escorted as be- 
fore, and attended by his Excellency Gov. Seward, 
his military suite, and an immense concourse of 
citizens. After an appropriate adSBss by his Excel- 
lency and an appeal to the throne of Grace by the 
Rev. Mr. E. Tucker, the remains were re-intered 
by the military with the honors of war. 




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